She’s no stranger to the flame
and the way she says your name
sets your blood boiling inside
and makes you flush with pride.
And when she goes to dance,
it’s with simple elegance
and a touch of the grace
that hides behind her face.
I wandered through the market
again today…
My restless eyes perused,
not the worldly wares,
but the faces and the frames
of the people passing by
in search of someone
from a half-remembered dream.
“All of the tomorrows and yesterdays meld,
and rekindling of souls from
a tomorrow’s glance.
I caught your words
on the wind,
Your scent
on the breeze,
now all I need is the realization
of a strangers face.”
You’re in this city somewhere;
I can feel it…
I checked the park this morning
but I’ll investigate again.
Some strange restlessness
has afflicted me of late –
pushing, pushing, ever pushing,
ravenous for reprieve.
“Something draws me to the unfamiliar parts of the city,
where the lights are hidden in the trees,
the surrounding faces whisper,
the leaves fall from the trees of the park.
I’ve never known you,
I’ve never felt you,
Yet I know you’re here, somehow.
The familiar face in an unfamiliar dream,
you are the truths that sustain me.
If only I knew where you were.”
– this work in a collaboration with the lovely Violet-words, who wrote the quoted sections above.
I’ve been beaten,
kicked around,
insulted,
embarrassed –
My pride still burns.
You grab life by the throat
and wring your hands,
squeezing out the last drops
before drinking your bitter tea.
Late night addictions
lead to bleary-eyed morns
for which coffee and tea are sustenance
against our inner maladies.
I want to cut you –
and not just little nicks
but full-body slashes
that lessen you by chunks
and make you cover up year-round
to hide from all the questions
about the pieces of you I took.
I want to break you –
and lay into you with such force
that my fists are bleeding too
and I can’t raise my arms anymore.
I want you to feel my anger
every time you move
from that day forward.
I want to dirty you –
so that people look at you
with shameful sideways glances
like I see them look at me.
I want to make you so fucking filthy
that I’m goddamn pristine
by comparison.
I hate you.
I hate your laughter and your tears,
your humility and your pride,
and your goodness and your vice.
I want to hate you with all my heart
because in those moments I succeed
in forgetting how much I hate myself.
These endless days continue onward,
like waves flowing out into the sea
only to become dull, gray echoes
lost within the ocean.
The hands on the clock reach for me,
slowly making their way to my throat
and even as I flee their inescapable grip
I hear the closing “Click. Click. Click.” of their boot heels.
My days are a damned torrent of tomorrows,
a neverending nightmare in which novelty
is the only saving respite –
yet it erodes as well…
I want to make these moments mean something –
to regain the vigor of my youthful days
when I was a God in my back yard
and every day was a gift to be unwrapped.
I want to blow away the dust gathered on my heart,
sweep out the cobwebs collected in my soul,
and banish the stifling and stagnant air
so I can breathe again.
This life is mine and mine alone.
I refuse to spend my time running away.
Living is something that must be seized
and this is the moment I awaken from my daze.
When others talk, they talk about people
because they know people.
I talk about clouds
and I think that’s the difference between us.
While they keep their minds
on the realities of the world,
my eyes keep drifting up
in a daydream daze.
Because I’m still wondering
if that firebird I saw flying into the sun
the week before the Iraq war
meant something.
I’m quite the curmudgeon
with a stare that scares the stars
and a tongue like a cat o’ nine tails.
My breath’s a balmy bludgeon,
my wink’s a flower witherer.
I’ve the swagger of a shark,
the moxie of a mule,
and my pitch-black boots
are made of old leather belts
weathered by years
of corporal punishment.
A (wise) man of two faces 