So many questions
and not enough people to ask,
names for a blessing
with a few drops of clear water
to annoint the soil,
rich, bare earth
holding the sorrowful weight
of grieving thirst.
I trace the burning lines
across my skin
following veins and arteries,
thunder crash foam in my mouth
holding the questions
within countless microscopic bubbles
washing away the annointed blessing
and trembling
twitch
tic
birthed out of the earth
and burned by the sun
channelling the voices from restless
blood
giving no light back
drink your own blood down
past parched wounds
puckered in anticipation
and left indefinitely.
The blessing is witnessed by none
neither are the symbols etched into my flesh
quick gashes that once drew in light
now stretch thin and giving back
only the blood.
There are those who may be able
to read the scars
but they too would then become infected
and consumed into me
leaving nothing behind
as I am now.
The years stoke the engine of decay
gaining slow, steady progress
pulling me outside my former mind
and the brain is left intact,
an unsteady hand dwells within
and threatens to spread.
Great men write volumes on
loss and gain
self and others
but they will read their ignorance
in my scars.
I will translate the music
the muffled chanting
in the black, thick vital liquid
and drown the mind of the world
in a cackling mad torrent.
The path to insanity
of blinding pure will
is uphill
but the thin air at the top of that mountain
nourishes
better than the dirt from my grave.
Death will broadcast
all knowledge
in a purifying flood
of baptismal
blood
I clean my lips
and lower my mind into
the ink
stars
dust.
Regarding My Frequent Nighttime Absences
They come
at night
while I
sleep
and remove
me from the danger of this world.
Where is my
blood?
I am a pint
low
as shown by
the strange bruises
and small
pinpoint scar
on my right
arm.
My body is
turned into a bank
for marrow
withdrawals
on randomly
selected nights.
Then again,
there is even a system in what seems random,
the dates
chosen through an elaborate equation
with
exponents and radians
complex
beyond human understanding
but obvious
after the fact
in a way
that blinds my senses to reality.
The spotted
darkness is paranoia
and I know
enough to keep my mouth shut.
Still,
despite all
this knowledge,
or
suspicions,
these
things are not keeping me up at night
I have
other, more mundane
sources of
stress.
The
everyday details help to push these
extra-ordinary
fears
into the
background
static wash
of soothing noise
until a
chance glance at my arm
or a poor
choice of words
reminds me
of the
unnatural
selection
as people
are drawn from darkness to light
yet kept
unaware
Untitled about Sleep (by my good friend, L)
The alarm was going off
again. I kept slipping back into my deep
warm sleep and then I'd jerk awake to the obscene shrill of the alarm's
siren. At some points I couldn't even
hear it. I could bury my head into my
soft down pillow and fall off into the sleep I call the breathing death. Slowly but surely, though, some apparatus of
my mind would allow the sound to enter my brain where my consciousness put me
on alert. If ever there was a night that
I would curse my hypothalamus, it was this one.
The ridiculous pattern of
stage four sleep mixed with being ripped from the arms of Morpheus, my beloved
nocturnal benefactor, was enough to create a split in my mind. Could no one else hear? It was at least a block away and there must
be at least 25 houses between my average hearing function and the monumental
distraction which had been flashing and wailing and warning the sleeping public
"VEHICLE IS ARMED".
I awoke with the alarm
clock this morning, after only 4 pummels on the snooze button. I could no longer hear the painful sounds
that left a black mark on my sleeping pattern.
Deprived of adequate sleep, I fumbled about the bed trying to remember
how to dismount this darnfangled contraption.
Blankets and sheets were all tangled and twisted around my legs
constricting my movement as if my bed were readying to devour me. That would've been a nice change in
events. I could have gotten more
sleep. "Sorry boss, the secretary
won't be in today. Terrible thing,
actually. It appears the bed has
digested her – the bottom portion anyhow.
There's a card in the break room we're all signing. Kathy with a K will be dropping it off at her
place with some nice yellow balloons.
Yellow is supposed to be cheerful."
Now here I am. In a haze - in a place between sleep and waking. Should I lay down, I would undoubtedly drop off instantly. I force myself awake, although my efforts are being thwarted by a tired body which insists that my bottom should scoot lower in the chair which increases my recline and relaxes my eyes. Sleep is a selfish master and does not care for schedules or responsibility.
My torso lies in the drawer
next to rolled-up socks
folded shirts and pleated pants
twitching fingers
reach for gibbering madness
and clinging to this
to stay above the waves.
I spy a glint below the mirror
that catches my eye.
The glass shatters
dropping me into murky depths
and limbs push me deeper.
My body acts as though trained since birth
for this moment
of drowning resurrection.
The loss of the surface saddens me
but the well is already full
I know nothing but the dark descent
and releasing bubbles
like wild butterflies
never to return.
The dark form on the floor
is also me
but this twin has lost some weight.
Looking haggard and beaten
my shadow chases after me
relentlessly
but I don't recognize him so well lately.
His voice is thick and is hard
for me to understand
my too-solid ears have trouble
translating his growing accent.
I was driving through the countryside yesterday
when I spied a black gazelle moving
silently along the road
pacing my car.
I finally realized it was him
so unfamiliar to my eyes
and this tint grows more opaque every day.
Eventually I know that he will leave me
as frustrating as his penance must be
forced into this pairing with someone who
no longer speaks the language
and cannot see beyond shades of gray.
I have wondered what horrific crime
he must have committed
to be forced into this sentence.
Will it be relief he feels when he is finally free?
I sit
chest bare to the air in the room
in disarray
I rub finger and thumb together
gliding over a thin crimson sheen
I am blood
pulsing from an open wound
screaming through your veins
speaking with clots and scars
I seep into the cracks in your brain
dripping through your eyes as
the salt in your tears
squeezed through the pores in your skin
I am the roar of thunder in your ears
as my heart forces me under your skin
I am the tear, I am the kill
I am the fear draining your will
black
sticky
death
I am blood