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| who can take the long look in the darkest mirror as the true images
come dancing forward, corpses burning with your buried grief, your
buried fear and secret guilt? where did you falter, son of man, what
was the temptation you could not bear? did you lust after comfort,
longing for sweet ecstasy of forgotten purpose? did you lust after it
just like me? i took sorrow's embrace and drank his emptiness down,
tossed the cup aside and asked him if that was all. isn't there
anything more? have you nothing emptier to offer me? i took it all and
could have taken more! i am not dead. that is my last temptation: to
believe i am immortal, to believe i am indestructable, to bury it all
again saying, "forget that, i can start again." i won't find
anything else with them, for what do shadows teach but tricksy light and
flimsy hope.
i want love that's blinding, blazing burning all
the bones away until only spirit remains. for it is not i but my spirit
that is so beautiful. | | |
| do you see me walking down the streets some days in the eyes of
strangers? do you recognize me in their weariness and sometimes perhaps
in their mirth? i must be everywhere at once because i certainly don't
feel any anchor here. and nothing lifts the spirit like the simplest
regard of form, a moon half-hidden by a streetlight, the angle of your
great-aunt's nose. do you hear me sometimes in the voices of other
people? do you feel that vague awareness of a whispered breath you
subconciously savor?
i must be everywhere at once.
| | |
| [no one can persuade me that loving you a moment more could have brought
anything but the inevitable, a lifetime of pain, because you could never redeem the time you spent in
betrayal of your heart and mine. and you were never looking for a savior and besides, i
was no diety to give grace every time you shoved your twisted knife
straight through me.
but somehow i crusaded for our love because i was deceived into
thinking my worth was related to your honor, of
which you had none.]
| | |
| unclothed on
cloud-tiered sky-scaffolding stood we with backs turned against each
other, darkling honey dribbling from welts where well-worn mattress
springs pierced and bound each of our redolent shoulders to its
counterpart. "the sky is really only pale blue hourglass sand," you
said as the rusted springs transfigured to wings. we clasped hands and
leapt from the scaffolding as i replied, "and the earth is made of
glass." | | |
| Unlikely Christlikeness
in gentle terms, how could i describe for you my mother, or for you my
brother, this demonized disposition of my soul? where i am content
within myself, without a world-- i am called to a world, a place of
discontentment and constant striving. alone in a room i am cooly
collected. and sometimes i am capable even of the most appealing sass
and the most endearing manner, yet still the best kept secrets. i am a
labyrinth of disgruntled emotion with only dead ends and no exits. i am
ambivalent enough to be as different a person as one dead and one alive in three days. | | |
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