You are not really
Me. You just show up to hit
Me, infest me, strike
Me down like a dog.
You are not real. Power you
Wield is stolen from
Me. Go back from whence
You came. No more shall you feed
On my strength and will.
Tag: residency
Betwixt and Between
“It doesn’t matter,
But I’m telling you so you
Know.” Education
For me consists of
Polarity. If there is
A fact that I know
It is frivolous.
If I don’t know it, it is
Essential. If I
Answered the question,
They wanted it in different
Units. There was a
Typo. Twenty two
Catches snare me and I am
Broken. I cannot
Stand divided, I
Can be only one thing. I
Will tell my own truth.
Tethered
I want to run. I
Can’t. This collar on my neck
Catches me, holds me
Down. Each time it bites
My flesh, my spirit falls, I
Despair the hope of
Liberty. It will
Be for me no noose, but will
Become my anchor.
This is where I plant
My cornerstone, where I will
Build my strong tower.
Dusty
Foppish diffidence
Belies his disinterest and
Disaffection. He
Has nothing to give, wants
Nothing in return. He is
Hollow, tired, gone.
The Mark
You add the judge and
The crooked, the sorceress
You get a snake that
Devours without
Remorse, you have to take his
Mark to live at all.
No Martyr
Once did a young man
Declare that the tragedy
Of the world was
Wrong, and that he would
Fix it. Did he believe in
Himself? Sometimes. But
Not often. He had
Imbibed and lived a creed in
Which to be crushed by
The machine was a
Victory, representing
The end to the war.
Eventually he
Became a doctor and found
Himself a clockwork.
Would he spend his life
And his substance to turn back
The hands for one more
Moment? He wasn’t
That good, to die in service
Of a lost cause. He
Was selfish enough
To want a purpose for his
Life and work, to write
His name in the stars,
To stop the clock forever.
No martyr would he
Be. He would not burn
On another’s pyre. He
Would steal the sun from
The sky and hide it
In his pocket, to peep at
When he was idle.
Modern Man’s Curse
Unloved by those who
He seeks to impress; smothered
By those who love him.
The Wound
The beginning wasn’t a beginning, it was an ending; just an endless circle. It was complete, nothing needed to happen.
Something did happen. What was it, the moment in the everything, the potential, that kicked over, infinite space, folded in on itself, creating a change, beginning time?
Time began when space was divisible into “is”and “is not.” Was it a sin, or a delusion, or an illusion? They’re all the same.
Needless to say, it hurt. We still hear that scream every day, every night, throughout eternity. In our head, it’s a high pitched whine, around 1600 Hz. It’s the sound of time, of incompleteness, of an aching need for something that we can’t even name.
We think we’ll find something to salve this burn, but we never do. It just festers and rots. Then we think that if we find another who hurts like we do, it won’t hurt so bad. But ultimately, there have never been any like us, so we go on limping, alone.
Still we hope. We search. We inquire. We persist. One day we’ll find him, or her, or them, and we’ll all speak our truth to each other, and we’ll have found the words that bring us back into our circle. We’ll be one again.
Time will cease, and we’ll rotate on our axis, harmonious and lovely, we’ll orbit.
Aeolian
I learned how to see
Auras this week. Not read them;
I see clear haloes
Of shimmering flux
Above people’s heads. Today,
We operated
On a very sick
Woman. Her aura clung to
Her, and after she
Had anesthesia,
It rose to fill the ceiling
Of the OR. When
We waited to start
The surgery, I implored
Her silently to
Stay, just a little
Longer, not to leave us here
On earth alone. I
Hope she listened. She
Will awaken soon; my heart
Cannot bear more death.
