Her own voice comes to her over the airwaves
A military tattoo punctuating
A warning, too late.
Hindsight 20-20 she is now to blame
For the whole world's affliction.
What deity adorned her thus?
To whom was she pandering?
Now the curse of Aaron is on her head, and all she did was
What any human would have.
The flesh is weak.
What did they expect?
Out of the pan, through the door
A nod, then a drop
And a scared girl cowers in the bottom of a pit.
The odor of her failure chokes her.
But where is the failure
In doing what is your nature?
What did she do to earn such spite?
A rape more insulting because
She brought it on herself.
Draped in misery, she thinks of what
Even hope begins to wane
Nothing certain but chaos.
Who knew opening a box would be so melodramatic?
Monday, January 30, 2012
I am a ghost, drifting unseen through gray halls.
Maybe I died that day, like I thought.
But I stayed to haunt these spaces.
Mine is the melancholy of the dead,
Full of the hopeless
Of nowhere to go,
Nothing to do.
You named me your ancient friend
And called me your life’s love.
And I shared your longing
And I let myself dream.
But the dreams of the dead go unheard
By the god who’s meant to hear them.
I am the blur in the shadows,
The man with the mandolin.
I sing my songs to rooms with no ears.
And no eyes bear witness.
My mouth tastes of smoke, even now.
My throat hurts, and my head
And I wonder if all the choices from last night were good ones.
They felt good at the time.
But then paranoia sets in.
Does anyone know? Did anyone
See the parts of me I try to hide
Behind jokes and smiles
Behind a cool manner and a drunken dance?
I am nonchalant
Or think I am.
But did anyone notice
My eyes linger too long,
My hand grasp at the air,
My heart reach out from my chest
To be drawn back in when I think
Someone is watching?
Daylight Savings Time arrived while I slept.
He stole an hour from me.
I was living on borrowed time.
And he merely reclaimed what was his.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
To be. Of course, to be.
I have no desire to unravel
My mortal coil
Because I know what dreams may come
And they make me want to stay awake.
Yet I am loathe to bear these ills.
Ever do I fly to new ills, praying
New joys await as well.
I am a gull seeking green
But finding only endless sea and sand.
This life is not my own.
It belongs to the thousand natural shocks
My flesh is heir to.
It belongs to you and he and they.
And I draw you all in.
And you eat my insides.
And I delight in the torture.
Because when you’re done, I’ll be free.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I have burned through 23 years.
The smoke of them fills my lungs with ash.
They came and went and seem so short now.
The days were long
And too many I wished would hurry.
What would I give now?
What would I give now
For another hour
With all of them.
Burned up like those 23 years.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
I hear it occurred to them to call upon the Muses of music and war.
Said the pot of stew surveying the room, “Gabriel Grub was carried away.
He used to stop in every night before.”
A garbled word in shaky Cyrillic,
Symbol of an empire fallen, and van Winkle, awake,
Trembling at such a thing.
They seemed rather to think that the old poet-kings were dead, and that gave them license.
Now Samuel, slumping through the halls, contents himself with memories of oils unspilled,
Unaware that what he thinks is nonsense.