In this windy, water crashing of night,
I think I see her,
In reflections outside, in the scores of eyes, of memories, somewhere I was sure, I am sure,
Watching me,
An opening in the seams of jigsaw images,
The north star, where she used to like to devour me, watch me,
A voyeur.
Turning in the shadows,
Turning over the shadows,
The crickets suddenly intermittent, the wind still rising and falling,
Where are they, a
Are these tickets to a new world,
Where are they? Where am I?
The wind has come,
Chaos in the atmospheres and water,
Is that where I lost my place?
I think I see the shapes outside my window again,
Devouring me, like a family of voyeurs,
And just as the obscure shapes leave a sharpness,
Is that where I fell?
They leave incisive memories as the shaking, tumbling and turning began,
I fall in the emptiness of all the things I could not touch
Like the crickets and wind
Where were they were happening now?
Is that how I lost my belonging?
I don’t understand,
The new movement over turns the dice,
Of predictability and risk,
In mirrors and reflections of my own face,
I got exposed to the high stakes treachery,
Of new teachings don’t maintain a connection, or a relation,
I can’t touch the
The way I used to,
I don’t see things as directly, they are all removed,
And where am I?
No resounding expanse of substantiality,
How am I supposed to deal with no legs to stand on
Was I to blame?
For the pillars all losing grace, place and character of strength,
I fell for years,
Through many facets,
Are these tricks of a new world?
Feels like a bad burn,
I wish I had never known this place, this way,
Is this just another apparition,
Am I as the crickets and wind now?
Far away, over the horizon, gone,
Just like all things fall apart,
My room, the waves, the weather, the peeling away of strength and words, the loss of the sense of touch, falling further apart until there is only a voice on the phone,
No longer embraced by insight or the endless night of seeing into each others seamless nature,
Slowly coming to terms with my dissolution,
The removal of familiar hands and faces,
The loss of friends and families,
Loneliness is a helpless and hopeless place,
My limbs being slowly removed,
Layer by layer,
Like veils,
Consumed in similarities, attempts at singularities, of seeing each other, in narrow margins,
I concluded none of it was real, and this is only a dream,
Only unpredictability remains,
Nothing touches, nothing connects, nothing relates, nothing helps in any understanding with another,
The shadows change, but it’s only me, alone, there’s no-one and nothing else
Only shifting shadows,
Such a thin line between the wind and the waves,
The crickets and me,
Where I was, where have been, where I knew and where I did not know,
The streets made from the sky,
into conveyor belts of greedy faces,
Drinking from irradiated sources,
Taken from the wind and waves,
To the people who make this trust,
Of coffers credit, creed, and consignment,
Of those who wait for their belief to begin to make sense of the prospering of those handshakes of policies,
Cheap threads don’t make contact,
They don’t listen to each other on the beach, the cemetery of sand,
They just echo,
Like lost children in the black night,
With the outline-ish memory images of a childhood where they knew the hands of communication, contact, community,
Little treasures on the shore,
Buried souvenirs,
For those who would one day also make this journey,
From cohesion to dispersion,
The wind blows, the curse is revealed,
Hidden at the bottom of a well,
Where the consonants are so much sharper and the vowels are so much smoother,
Is the beauty in the loneliness now?
I can’t tell beauty from loneliness from hopelessness from homelessness,
But in the graveyard where they told me,
“This is who you are. This is your essence, the favorite of destiny. You are the chosen one. Blessed beyond comparison to all those that did not make it here as you have. This is your golden path.”
Me, At the top of this circus wheel, flying like a fury,
In a little static fissure, waiting for the next wave on the endless floor if stillness,
Told have faith this new shape, of an opaque shadow,
Blown the wind, with clouds and crickets,
Alone and empty with the hordes of lost particles,
I lost everything that made me who I was,
I am locked inside a con, I am an imposter,
This is not me, this is a deceit,
This is a segmentation of a reality,
This is a separation of belonging,
The longing after the longing,
Became the tension of a bitter wall,
That never came undone,
On hold in the dim glow of a thin covering, that only holds images for brief exposures,
In the distance untold by the waves, neither beckoning or betrothing,
In the ever din of a mumble of pain, the return of memory,
The slipping of moments of identity,
The clock is a crook, in a circle of my shock,
Turning in so many striking moments,
Over and over,
A breath forever bereft of a believer,
A flash of expiration, with each passing realization,
The eyes tremble, the season’s size fails,
I lived in the earth, I knew a sense of completeness,
My extended existence was inseparable, timeless, connection was the relation, the revelation, and the reservoir of existence,
Where I touch a different scale meanings, and sums,
I remember,
I remained in the seeing that does not run,
Within the softest fold, of a greater nature,
Now on these fringes, my existence of hinges,
The powers of all, given to a few,
All strangers now,
Choking on drifting desolations.
No comments:
Post a Comment