in the swirling maelstrom
will we dance together.
Your firey eyes
cut to the bone,
and in the flicker of a dying fire
I can barely see
that I am once again alone.
I once compared you to a fallen angel,
all glowing sword, and a fist
shaking in defiance of the heavens.
But, the horror, the horror of this sorrow
is a razored rain, falling in torrents.
I cannot ever touch you again.
I would rather drown,
in the blood, shed by this shower,
than to never again waver
in ecstasy, beneath the thrumming genius
of your potent power.
Oh, but sorrow, bitter sorrow,
I shall never again dance with you
in the swirling maelstrom.
Forgive me, lovely creature,
I knew not what I had done.
Who with her words,
Has shattered and torn
And bound and repaired,
Should never be so sad
As to believe that silence is the same
How can one forget
The passionate howl,
And the most tender caress.
In anger she struck
In the night of grim declarations.
Of lamps ever lit
For eyes and song and bravado and daggers.
She knew not until the dawn
That in every work, of the infantile days
Was a fragment of labor, dedicated,
To the lustre of her abyss dark eyes alone.
Eyes, which have shone in the darkest day.
Eyes, which have darkened an evening of flickering flames.
Who's voice, though dissonant to ears this cold
Nevertheless, has sung the sweetest strain,
And etched southern flowers upon the brain.
Such as her,
Shall always remain,
In the core of who I am
I will remember your name.
I fell in lust for a Montenegrin woman.
But, an Albanian dude had already tied a noose around her neck.
So I took a sip of her Rakija, when he was off working,
and rubbed against her supple skin, when I thought we were alone.
I will never forget the look on his face,
when I called her by her name, without a hint of western inflection.
And when he saw the glimmer in her eye, when she answered me
I felt a despair, which cannot compare with nearly any other
I have been sliced with, ever since.
Of all the flesh I have felt, but failed to penetrate,
I think I would have feasted on my own fingers,
to slip between those pale white thighs.
But, alI I have to comfort me in the neverending silence of the ages,
is the sound of her whispering my name,
and the message of desire, sinking,
in her brown, drowning pool eyes.
Cut your eyes out
if you can't see
the beauty buried in each pore,
in each scar, and blemish
that stares back at you
beneath the surface of the mirror.
Put a bullet through your brain
if you don't think
that you deserve happiness and pleasure,
because of the pain you have caused,
when that pain is just a reflection
of the horror you have endured.
Smash your body on the rocks,
and shatter every bone,
if you believe
that the flesh you wear is a curse,
and not a blessing.
And, after you have destroyed yourself,
and rendered your being down,
into a pile of unmoving meat,
know, that even so,
you are beautiful, beyond description.
For a man without a home in this world
the road becomes a lover.
With rubber fingers running over blacktop skin
the miles are shared
with something that falls just short of affection.
But, the road has her rules, she demands so much.
For each mile together, blood must spill.
Ten thousand tiny bodies must be mangled,
and strewn in bloody tangles along the shoulder.
Leaving brown streaks behind, for months,
as a reminder of her bloodlust.
Ten tons of rubber must be shredded,
and scattered across every lane.
Bouncy black booby traps,
that thump and tumble, and startle the unwary.
Crushed glass, and crumpled steel make her smile
so sacrifice must be made for every single mile.
When you are alone, and your world is a blur
of fast food wrappers, and lonely motel rooms,
only occasionaly shared,
with women who disappear before dawn,
you are willing to make such sacrifices.
But, when the sky bleeds blue, and paints the highway its shade,
the horizon merges into a hazy sea.
The lines and the lanes disappear,
the cars ahead appear to sink into azure nothingness,
and for an instant the whole world wavers,
until the next hill is crested, and the illusion is dispelled
by the brightly glowing city skyline in the distance.
Only then do you realize that the city you see there isn't yours,
and the road leading you towards yet another alien world
never loved you, and never will.
Deny your desire
to browse the images
that you thought brought you pleasure.
Toss the mental albums in the fire.
Release the songbird of sweet memories,
do not clip its wings by revisiting everything,
until you have drained the treasury of the past.
Only touch my skin with the hand of your mind
when the night is blackest,
and loneliness howls like a caged hound.
Lock my face away in a place it can't be found,
in an obuilette, so deep in the ground
you can no longer hear the sound of my memory.
You never should have written me into your history in the first place.
I was cracked on the Checkerboard.
Black and white became everything to me.
Now I teeter totter between the joyous and the rotten.
So easily I was fragmented, by a scrap of paper,
and a pattern.
The Green Monster climbed inside my eyes,
and I saw behind a picture,
what the picture really wanted to be,
A blinking glimpse of another reality.
The White Widow unleashed the black daimon in me,
From then on, I couldn't stop seeing beyond.
Beauty became brutality,
and I have walked across this tightrope,
longer than my legs have cared to walk before.
A golden spear screams out
In search of a silver shield.
The burn of fire demands the soothing cool of water.
Wild and delirious
with civilization and sanity,
Perfect Only to me.
I have leapt into the chasm,
only to soar towards the sun.
I have force fed the angel
To starve the devil,
But, the beast can feast on darkness,
and besides, I think without it
the angel would die.
The mind is a terrible thing to shatter.
But the scattered pieces sparkle brightly
In the darkest night, when all other lanterns are shaded.
Like red lights in a darkened ship.
But, it has always been a checkerboard
strobing beneath my eyelids.
Even before I licked the paper
I saw the pattern.
It has been with me since before
I learned the words and their meanings.
Before I drew my first breath,
A checkerboard was tattooed on every cell of my being.
The blotter just brought it to the surface.
Now I can only sit and wonder
what my soul did to deserve this.