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At times my hair runs away
A rabbit jumping and leaping
crossing over and back
through the woods.
It annoys me
then, I feel it is somehow
the physical illustration of a stressful day
or a means of interrupting my thoughts.
Hard to know who I am at times-
It feels like I am looking through
many layers
of fragmented glass
some broken and reattached
my feelings have hinges.
Traveling through history,
Time seems insignificant
How others lived before
Is not so different
than
Now
and perhaps
there was more meaning in it.
In the light of day it all
Seems terribly naked-
My feelings left to the elements,
bare
Un-embraced and neglected
It is but an illusion revealed
For its false strategies
Its effigies, that pertains to
where I could be
And what matters
Gracefulness
of valor
And competence
Lines, lines that travel
Scratch into things
Run over things
Lines that tie us to the
Ground or float
Us into the sky
Lines driving us
Astounding,
brilliant
Written in light,
in darkness
That severe us,
That stitch us back
in upon ourselves
That make you hate me
And me love you
Roads of linear time
Break me,
distract you
Empower and divide
Erase them and set us all
Free
in an instant
Random moments lead to
profound thoughts
Nothing is truly planned
What I can’t understand
Right now
I will see
Into infinity when it is
All too late for me
A rabbit jumping and leaping
crossing over and back
through the woods.
It annoys me
then, I feel it is somehow
the physical illustration of a stressful day
or a means of interrupting my thoughts.
Hard to know who I am at times-
It feels like I am looking through
many layers
of fragmented glass
some broken and reattached
my feelings have hinges.
Traveling through history,
Time seems insignificant
How others lived before
Is not so different
than
Now
and perhaps
there was more meaning in it.
In the light of day it all
Seems terribly naked-
My feelings left to the elements,
bare
Un-embraced and neglected
It is but an illusion revealed
For its false strategies
Its effigies, that pertains to
where I could be
And what matters
Gracefulness
of valor
And competence
Lines, lines that travel
Scratch into things
Run over things
Lines that tie us to the
Ground or float
Us into the sky
Lines driving us
Astounding,
brilliant
Written in light,
in darkness
That severe us,
That stitch us back
in upon ourselves
That make you hate me
And me love you
Roads of linear time
Break me,
distract you
Empower and divide
Erase them and set us all
Free
in an instant
Random moments lead to
profound thoughts
Nothing is truly planned
What I can’t understand
Right now
I will see
Into infinity when it is
All too late for me
Earthquakes would seem less shattering than the blaze of your anger.
The tenuous ribbon of your brow pulled upwards and out
A surgeon could not have transfigured you
As the art of rage
I sit somehow on the outer
Rings of the amphitheater
That our living room has become
I see ancient Greece
Athens hot raging sun and
Dry earth I ascend
Into this argument
Into this tragedy
The acropolis was never beautiful
Nor the great carved halo circles of the theaters of Athens
Your anger increases and
I long for the great precipice of the Northern Islands
The Aegean Sea
Dazzling blue and green
And I remember the turquoise and lapis swirled
Stone in a ring
Of silver
The shopkeeper’s words
Where the sea meets the sky
But we are rock and water
This is us
I was fluid to you
Funneling emotion and images
I want you to be
The sky so I can
Meet you in soft
Ethereal pleasure and blissful breezes
Arching around us
The tenuous ribbon of your brow pulled upwards and out
A surgeon could not have transfigured you
As the art of rage
I sit somehow on the outer
Rings of the amphitheater
That our living room has become
I see ancient Greece
Athens hot raging sun and
Dry earth I ascend
Into this argument
Into this tragedy
The acropolis was never beautiful
Nor the great carved halo circles of the theaters of Athens
Your anger increases and
I long for the great precipice of the Northern Islands
The Aegean Sea
Dazzling blue and green
And I remember the turquoise and lapis swirled
Stone in a ring
Of silver
The shopkeeper’s words
Where the sea meets the sky
But we are rock and water
This is us
I was fluid to you
Funneling emotion and images
I want you to be
The sky so I can
Meet you in soft
Ethereal pleasure and blissful breezes
Arching around us
.Words as fingertips lightly nudge feelings along, but it is no use, for there is only a bleakness, untouchable and jet, as black as the heart of ebony wood, hard and airless. Is this sorrow ? That which my wounds would not show to the scavengers with whom I spend my days, pecking at them, incessantly. I dress them again and again, but who will tend them when consciousness slips away and my still body continues in this state of despair.
Am I so different, that I would press softly on their wounds, holding blood and flesh together for as long as anyone could wait, until my own limbs fall and lose their strength? What am I that I would do things that others would not seem to even consider, let alone acknowledge in the light of day?
They swarm as soon as I lift the mesh and dare to see the damage that could not be repaired, even if there was time in this space. I am within this singularity, away from any thought of future, only present and past enfold around me in a circuit of annuity.
Thinking about a space without air, where would that be and why would anyone be there? What form would I take, if I could take flight? And where could I go to? Space, an airless place did not frighten me in its vastness, but this place, wounded as I feel, is horrifying.
Perhaps, as an astronaut, I could look again from a distance at the smallness of our existence and see myself reflected in it.
Am I so different, that I would press softly on their wounds, holding blood and flesh together for as long as anyone could wait, until my own limbs fall and lose their strength? What am I that I would do things that others would not seem to even consider, let alone acknowledge in the light of day?
They swarm as soon as I lift the mesh and dare to see the damage that could not be repaired, even if there was time in this space. I am within this singularity, away from any thought of future, only present and past enfold around me in a circuit of annuity.
Thinking about a space without air, where would that be and why would anyone be there? What form would I take, if I could take flight? And where could I go to? Space, an airless place did not frighten me in its vastness, but this place, wounded as I feel, is horrifying.
Perhaps, as an astronaut, I could look again from a distance at the smallness of our existence and see myself reflected in it.
There’s a table between us. Hard stretch of compressed wood and Formica finish. Golden streaks twirl in a kind of marble replica stained by chocolate and salsa remnants of yesterday’s dinner. Words seem to spill out onto the table like the drip of water from the faucet to your right. You’re sorry. You say that you don’t deserve me. There is no excuse. I watch the swirls of gold and brown rippling through the Formica and complain that you can’t look me in the face. You wash dishes as though the fate of the world depended on it. There is something more here, so I choose to dig deeper and leave the table, walking to the bedroom without turning back. This interplay goes back and forth for a while as we shift from room to room like changing sets- our life a play of emotion and reticence. I’ve ended where I started and sit again at the kitchen table. Everything is still now, and I see that you have changed. You sit twisted head turned in profile a bandana of red and orange streaks covers your curls. You keep saying it is no excuse. No excuse for being so irresponsible, but I know now that something new is coming. Your chin begins to twitch and then a slight quiver turns into an earthquake of emotion and you tell me that your great uncle has passed away.
A new sequence of emotions begins. Explanations, anger, reticence and comfort spill into the Formica, but the swirls remain unchanged. Eventually, we change scenes and you are curled up legs folded under you and I want to embrace your whole body and take you into me; my body a womb to soothe you. Confessions of true fear float to my ears like wisps of smoke and I strain to hear without interruption. You are so strong you say. You talk of fear, of a line of thought from generation to generation, fear intertwined like a tide of seaweed sticking to you in arbitrary places and difficult to remove. You are afraid of your father’s eventual death and that I have been through it already.
A new sequence of emotions begins. Explanations, anger, reticence and comfort spill into the Formica, but the swirls remain unchanged. Eventually, we change scenes and you are curled up legs folded under you and I want to embrace your whole body and take you into me; my body a womb to soothe you. Confessions of true fear float to my ears like wisps of smoke and I strain to hear without interruption. You are so strong you say. You talk of fear, of a line of thought from generation to generation, fear intertwined like a tide of seaweed sticking to you in arbitrary places and difficult to remove. You are afraid of your father’s eventual death and that I have been through it already.
