Down the hall, through the living room
and living daylights.
Through corner shops, spoon-eateries,
between rows of seats in adult theaters,
Beneath Roman spears
of crystal ice
ignoring the warning.
Same old, same old wicked agonizing cold. I freeze solid
and I escape once more.
Through Subways, through hotel lobbies.
Between invidious eyes, above the malady.
Down streets, down stairs, getting stuck, falling asleep, getting chased.
I refuse to affirm my negation with pity,
but rather with revolt and insurrection
I build this fortress not with iron and bricks, but with dust
and guilt
And off I go again...
An airport chapel is tonight's citadel.
From a hidden corner
a raspy cough emits from a familiar throat.
I sit down.
I sit like Plato's prisoner in my cave,
eyes fixed forward
on the wooden cross.
The familiar figure rises.
He walks through my vision,
but I refuse to see anything
but his silhouette
And off I go again...
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Down the hall, through the living room
and living daylights.
Through corner shops, spoon-eateries,
between rows of seats in adult theaters,
Beneath Roman spears
of crystal ice
ignoring the warning.
Same old, same old wicked agonizing cold. I freeze solid
and I escape once more.
Through Subways, through hotel lobbies.
Between invidious eyes, above the malady.
Down streets, down stairs, getting stuck, falling asleep, getting chased.
I refuse to affirm my negation with pity,
but rather with revolt and insurrection
I build this fortress not with iron and bricks, but with dust
and guilt
And off I go again...
An airport chapel is tonight's citadel.
From a hidden corner
a raspy cough emits from a familiar throat.
I sit down.
I sit like Plato's prisoner in my cave,
eyes fixed forward
on the wooden cross.
The familiar figure rises.
He walks through my vision,
but I refuse to see anything
but his silhouette
And off I go again...
Request permission to use this poem