eating my words [ix]
Poetry
sad love story
he ran fast breath short dry throat up the hill where she had said she would love him forever when he got there and searched the air he found no mystic moon he knelt under the weight of his sorrow
directly at the sun
there are no more metaphors
it is what it is
it has always been that way
but i couldn’t really see
no more soothing loving touches
like the caressing of a wave
you are gone in body now
in heart you were never here
i’m a creature who loved the dark
my metaphor box is empty now
perhaps just a dried mosquito wing inside blown in from the mountains
no more dancing gracefully like the darling swan nor can i really say that my wings have been completely clipped
every now and again when my brain breaks free
some grungy renagade metaphor breaks free and i fall into my norm
but yes the metaphors divorced me cold got up and walked away
they drifted toward a London fog
never seeing them again
in my life now a rose by any other name can be a rocking chair
driven like the snow
drives in the month of June
the end of my winding road
seems to not appear
but with Papa Hemingway by my side death might play peekaboo
at midnight’s xylophonic stroke
but until then my body bare will lay in suspended state supine and starring directly at the sun
birds and fig trees
baby birds tucked in the fig tree yelling tweeting at the top of their tiny bird lungs
little beaks automatons
of nature booming from
the hard green fig tree
as i remained faceless
from the gray black trunk
of that biblical tree
i peeped itsy bitsy baby bird
feets hanging on to knots of wood these baby birds browner than brown and oranger than orange
such a concert hall cacophony of teeny tweet tweet prayers
north side babies
the dusk is silent
only eddies swirl about my feet
i hear my steps on pavement
come up through my teeth
Mexican bread cinnamon spiced
marries with the hotdog vendors
porky delights
my mind turns to the downtown kids dressed in oversized everything smiling laughing smoking weed back packs on their shoulders
laying on the grass at Pershing Square talking about markers liberty and what’s out there
in the universe they float in
philosophical of thought
passing only on the left hand side
no particular goal today other than just living forever
dare me
you were an accomplice to my light and joy torn from me
i small and a child you the siren scream shrill tearing through my skin
now i old and strong i proclaim that as long as i breathe you can’t deprive me of giving joy to others
black
there she is on top of the ashen tree clacking away encroaching upon the mid inky night air
moon veiled like Italian black lace and stars tinier than usual so far so far away
her feathers drenched ebony widow’s gown bereft of her heart’s departed master me thinks i named her Lilith
perhaps she asks for the blackberries in the shallow gainsboro painted stoneware plate two inches from the window with the opened livid curtains
more troubling yet she reads my murky thoughts of Aqua Man playing Chopin on the piccolo dressed like Elvis with sequined fish tail
needless to say under my breath could she be the harbinger of death yet the polish from my nails flaked from the day’s excruciating angst
ok class
for today’s lesson
look in the mirror
and praise your spirit
in math class figure out how many smiles it takes to get you through the day
in philosophy ask not where did our giants go wrong but how can we usher their wisdom to the promised land and have them witness you building their home
in logic it goes without saying fight for your right to think for yourself otherwise no one will ever be free
in ethics and religion agree to disagree knowing that there is no perfection in humanity
and in politics the new world order is to be debated and cut open so tell me what you really see can AI really be the savior that they say it is
and when you’ve reached your elective class use art to create the hate and pain away
and after all your work is done class will be dismissed
so run out to the playing field and level it out with love and lots of elbow grease
used to
the mania left
no confetti on the floors
just bits of distorted senses
peanut butter jar lady fingers but no one to lick them
i’m out of maxi pads
but i dont really want to
go out now
closing my lashes pills on my tongue
to keep death from threatening and being a fool
when i was young i saw the gold sound of BBs Lucille rising like smoke when a pope is chosen
life has come and stayed in the mess next to me
thrill in the last throes of something long gone
thinking of the world from work
words less spoken 