ruff draft from current work in progress – my badlands by pd lyoons

my badlands

along the north sea port
joined a Virgil woman
guiding darker underground
beneath the cities of men

up for air

ice hung with our breath
long wrapped woolens
nestled steel in our pockets
heated by such as our own mortal blood
behind the drapes through the doors
in the company of sailors whores and other stranded strangers
ritual of smoke
purification of rum
dreams of southern seas twined stories of the ice
phantomed like Frankenstein and Winnetou
each of us a mythology onto ourselves

what could we do but cling?
what could we do but put our breathing mouths together
born in strawberries
learned in nights beyond my ability to count
I let you be that,
you let me be the arms of love
able to carry you across the threshold
not a room above the kiosk
rather an immortal bed of mortality
not needing to be
anything more than
another breath.


untitled by pd lyons

untitled by pd lyons


inspired by Springsteen, memories and coffee ( not whiskey !) first read to the public  in the Lir Tearooms Castlepollard Westmeath Ireland december 2015

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  • Donna J Snyder  On December 21, 2015 at 4:46 am

    What a treat, waking up Sunday evening and finding this ticket to immortality.

    I like the painting, too. Oil?


    • pdlyons  On December 21, 2015 at 1:32 pm

      acrylic. thank you.


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