I have already
Ruined that
rotation I swore
would shatter
The vision came
while tossing in
the sheets that
gnashed my
legs as though
they were
soft snakes
taunting me
He does
not need
love
hugs
my hand
or intellect
I have educated
him in the
pastimes of
Loneliness
Solitude
and the life
of extroverts
My pain and past
is now his
to carry on to the
next generation
like Celtic spirals
spinning without
halting
It was not your usual grain-
Spinning brightly, dashes of brown
(Those are life specs)
To whom do I speak, is it the memory keeper?
If I must speak frugally, it was a simple brown.
Lines. Lines of white not so simple
They spread out into the vastness
Teasing the sense of safety
They are the line breakers
Careful as they walk
Watching their back
Timid steps
Into the crack, not over
Are you taking this down?
(Memory keeper?)
Brown. And white. Lines.
Vastness. Safety lurking under the grapevines
Taking away my giggling
And innocence
Back then on the table
Grains far from the truth
And now,
Hiding here on the wiggly time line-
I squirm.
I must remember what good feels like.
Earth odors emaciate my senses,
Thinning
My blood so that I may
Fly without air
Melancholy wine, tendrils of their own
Wrap around me, curling me up
(Please take this down.)
I become pod-like, and safe in my shell.
My breathing takes in all that approaches
Even the white blurs
(Note to the keeper: the following)
Remove the prickly taunts-
Just grab the ant by its legs. It does not belong
This time
(Memory keeper: Life specs)
It was about squeezing what was left-
Wild onion grass underfoot, a bushel of space,
Upside down butterflies,
He loves me, loves me not, I wish I could
Remember. To try. To savor
What was left of adolescence
In memory
Only the sting.
(Was left)
It is later now.
My pinkie nail has grown
filed to a point like a vampire incisor tooth.
The memory keeper is long gone.
My half-life is burning out
but it still fuels the hybrid being that I have become.
The white line blurs within me. I breathe it in.
I have parted, split, broken, and become effused.
The jagged line is there in the middle
between existentialism and aesthetics.
Much later.
I remember spring.
An eruption of shadows, and light.
The fullness inside of me.
Vines that hug skin tight.
And I am whole.
One bird on a wire
Not sure if it is genuine
All the cars glimmering
in the sun dry my vision
Where have the old
ones gone? rusty and smoking
Oh I spy them down that
dirty area of urban sprawl
Turning away not looking back
Departing from the genuine people
I go back to the
attractive people
