Simple things, like a slow start to a late morning
Like listening to old disco waft over the scent of Arabic roasts
The slight insistence of last night's indulgence not quite crawling across my brain
Like watching my capering daughter with her joy in a small rainbow umbrella
Small hands wanting to help with tasks only a little too large
The company of bright minds in Similar states of satiation
Full of the richness of hollandaise, eggs, the sharp oiled smoke of salmon
Simple things like hi-fiving as we collapse on the sofa, space cleansed, evening sun sprawled a crossed the wall
Golden Berlin sunset calling a riot of houseplants into soft violet contrast, shadows long
Simple like the way the sun catches your profile, and my breath catches in my throat..

Simple things

A question posed in prose
A subtle shudder washes through me
As I seat myself to listen
To these dark desires, and twisted dreams
Filled with sighs and moans
and scream
My eyes look starward
Head thrown back
Breathe fluttering like butterflies
As alliteration laps my thigh
And whets the blade softly traversing down
Legs press closed so gentle movement
Excites the pearl inside
I avert my eyes as told
Feel your breath dark on my neck
Feel the blood swell through me
Thudding rhythms
In time with its cadence
Is this languishing?
Are you a product of my dark desires?
Ha.
I am a product of yours.
So I open myself fully
Arms akimbo
You imagine you to be MY puppet...
Now imagine I am yours
Waiting for the next penetrating words
To drip lavaciously from your pen
So I can absorb more of you within
Now dreamed who again?

They say artists
are tortured
Conceptually
Figuratively
Also literally
Some create through chaos
Out of seeds of destruction comes
a harsh beauty born of the artisans
experience of the world
Some express through their tears
their captivity, and from this
brutality again comes beauty
Joy
Ecstasy
emotive threads bind us
Loss  
Sorrow
it's soft ether numbing us
Driving us to tears
To apathy or
to death
Or to Art
As a means to fight for
something beautiful
A means to resist the cut of the knife
As a means to make
Something that would make her smile
Capture that glow
Make him bite his lip
to hold back tears
Make us see beyond our limited realities
And fears
Make me whole again
With stanzas, Indian ink staining our fingers
With stitches, tapestries of lives long past
With music, that can transport us to the depths of depression
As elevate us to the strata above in one refrain
With paint stained brushes
With spray on trains
Art as protest
Artists are amongst the first in those
waves of repression
cultural victims, with science
following at its heels
Persecution ******* their steps
The possibility of losing your life
for the creative output
.. and many have
let's not forget
So art is born of pain, perhaps
and some from joy as quickly
as from fear
Regardless of its origin
You know when you find that spark
You understand intrinsically
That light as brain and heart ignite
And you breathe catches, ragged, rhythmically
In your mind, alive
Exist in perfect time with appreciation
In this space for here lives Art
Be touched by the pain or joy
Sorrow or longing
Be embraced by flow
of words and style
My chest tightens
and eyes mist
This is the artists tortured soul on display
They placed it there
for me
So all could see
what was laid bare

never has such a battle ensued
between self 1 and self 2
they know each others moves
trying to second-guess the next two
but all it takes is one move played false
to turn the tide against self on self
the disappointment from self 1
surely, this was his moment
his green eyes flash as its stolen away
by careless mistake
angry, self 1 cries "this *****!"
self 2 answers in smug tones
"he's so *******..he does this. Every. Time."
self 1 sighs
disappointment weighs heavily
self 2 crows
and preens distractedly

on the side lines I light a cigarette
bemused, though entertained
this is why I only watch
people playing themselves at chess

It's starts slowly
First a rising of unease
Not anything to speak of, as yet
A sense that there is unbalance in the distance
But hey.. on we go, right?
We're here to have fun
In this press
Tall bodies jostle and push
A wall of human, oblivious to my smallness
Dances his way into collision
That ******* soaked my everything with
my gingerly carried beer
****
The unbalance approaches.. cautiously
I see that shadow, feel the mists rise
Bit my lip and try anger instead
And blithely follow J to our friend
Ensconced in the front
Under a speaker stack
Bass reverberating through us
As the opening chords start
Now the panic sets in..
Too many people
Just drink... drink all the beer
Don't think about it
Don't stand to close
Try to carve out a space from the
Tower of anxiety
Slowly growing around me
Clawing at my psyche
With its rusty nails
Don't think, don't look it in the eye
To late.. the low frequencies crush my lungs
Too loud too many people
I can't even move
Can't..breathe
The eye slowly turns towards  
It's heavy grey gaze grazes me
An oily fear wells up within
The crush sets in
Have to escape
Have to get out.. not later.. NOW
Tears well up
My friends guide me to out to halfway
"Is this ok?"
The crush laughs
"NO"  I bark
And we make it outside
With a shuddering chest I try
To calm and then the fingers of Why
Poke at me
No one talks about the overwhelming guilt
The shame that cuts within
'God, I've ruined their nights'
'This is so dumb'
'Why do I have to be like this
'Why don't I love the struggle anymore'
'Why can't I just be normal'
But the only thing I can say it
"I'm sorry for being like this"
Like normal is a jacket you can throw on as a finishing touch to the ensemble
We miss most of the concert
But the imbalance is slowly chased away
With kind words
"****, lady we'd never leave you like this"
A puff of a spliff
We make it back for the encore
and they quip
"It's when they play the best songs anyway"