Saturday, February 12, 2011

(shhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

between you and me, ive long been proud of my ability
to present an exterior of normalcy while stewing
in an internal world full of half rotting carcasses,
bug eyed fire flies, and the ashes of cities. i have
nights where i secretly patted myself on the back for how
close to craziness i felt. maybe i actually enjoyed the insomnia,
the self medication, the revolving door of revalations and excesses,
the dead artist club that follows me with a broom to sweep up
my mess. its oddly neat i can read psychiatric disorder books and point
out fun ones i have. and here i am going in for more meds tomorrow.
oh im such a bitter wreck of a sage
but every then and now i stop. realize how "been done"
it is. all are victims, all know tragedy, the
stirred air that follows the experience of weightlessness.
(ok, a LITTLE therapy wouldn't hurt)

but who wants to be one of THOSE?
those who talk of how much more persuasive
their demons are than everyone elses. those
who look at their watch too much or
lie about watching a sunrise they slept through.

so i made a wager

to keep the names to myself.

to face what needed facing.
and never take pride in
the coffee collapsing
a piano into a window.

im just gonna keep
looking
for paint cans to salvage the answers
i bought
from the trash bins.

cuz lets be honest.

i could be phillip seymour hoffman with
just a little practice, a few deep breaths,
and some dance class.

In a colorful equation of long standing

you arose from some
where hidden inside.
a universe that was
definite and dead. a
journey drenched in
the whole earth
because you know
in the fog, it
escaped me. and
sugar palmed, the
way you liked it.
a little girl wearing
red suspenders,
sat high and
upended.
in any case,
a hesitant nest,
a slow purpose,
the perturbed
cannot help here.
it doesn’t fit.
it cant fit.
in any case.
I made you in
my image