I.
My blood was glistening meteor glows after
the modern jazz I spent all night trying
to carve into genius.
Hanging on the the blue notes of
saxophones like a madman hooked to
his syringe, and then you petrified me...
But I began to shake.
The spirit of all my ballads has returned to
me at last.
Dug yourself out of my past, into the
bedroom thought fractures — I call
them modern art — but plugged into
your Dada spirit, the abstract turns into
star clusters,
And I'm burning for that cosmic wishing well.
Just hoping for your radiation to spread over
our lightyear gap, that gap that always
made coexistence so impossible.
When Calliope calls,
I'd advise anyone answer...
But you're twice as golden
And thrice as red
As Calliope has ever been.
Torn in your sandstorm.
Blinded by this vision of your second
coming.
Back in one piece, one whole, one complete
consciousness, and all after I tried my
damnedest to rip you apart, poetically.
Only in reflection and confrontation did I see
how wrong it all felt.
That is not poetry
There was no peace.
That does not spawn Justice,
And you did not warrant my contempt.
I idolize you for you are what I am not.
I am mesmerized as we are exactly the
same.
II.
The things you do not know.
I must have started typing you fifty times,
never hitting send since my dark
Crispin's Night.
I never hit send.
Not once.
I built imaginary worlds where you were my
abuser, with my loneliness a
pawn, but a crucial one.
Those thoughts that latched on to the back
corners of my insecurity, and reassured
me I was void of worth most every
night...
I turned those thoughts into you—
Spilled those goddamn thoughts into reality,
and it took your shot of venom to place
it all back into perspective.
If you're wondering what I've been up to
since you left, my calendar hasn't
hasn't moved a single page.
III.
The mythos never told me that Erato could
address me back—
Muse that I pray on.
Muse that I mull over with Whitman.
I take this chance to lift you up, as you've
been floating me over this rural skyline
for months now.
Let me see the city.
I only wish to live.
I see governments toppled in the tint of your
face, with the lights low, the air quite
heavy for me.
You had to feel like a Goddess,
Even your distant screams had your mark of
perfection.
IV.
You're the one I envy.
Dozing off under the anger of conservative
politicians talking about life...
Erato, darling, what do these guys know
about life anyway?
To lie as profession
Lie for the masses
Lie for the wealth of corporations
Lie for self-justification
Lie for the war effort
Lie for the public spectacle that can be
reduced to little more than fetus magic.
I'd rather be haunted by anything else.
Emigration sounds so lucrative.
V.
It's time to cut open the system.
I wish society, when cut open and guts
hanging, strung up in a gallery, looked
like the spirit of a Scrabble screaming
match, less like estimations of
"necessary" civilian casualties.
It's time to piece in your abstraction.
Let's flip the script from faith-lit sketchbook
into reality.
Let's show the world the graces of speaking
in comedy, the asset we lost when we fell dark under our lack of communication.
Blessed to reestablish what we cannot take for granted.
Iris bonfire to highlight your drive,
But it's only determination,
Your gift of beatitude.
You can move through mazes with such precision and grace.
I should have never let my admiration pull me under a tide of greed.
As much as I value the ability
to cut away at masses of abstraction,
Still covered in their vague seal of illusion
you don't condone,
I'd submit to trade for even a bit of your
structure,
And let you have the absinthe that coats my
soul.
VI.
Drink on how we are in harmony.
I'm already drunk on your hesitance.
Everything about your being is skewing my world.
I feel the changes, while the cold sets in,
across their javelin flight path.
These aren't the kind of thoughts you can't
damp down with epilepsy medication.
I'm nearing clarity.
I'm inching in on human purpose.
VII.
I locked you away on my nightstand,
Next to Jailbird, in great irony.
I never let you argue your rights.
I wasn't just being inhumane, it was
borderline unconstitutional.
Anger from hate, as always.
Coping in flawed fashion, yet smiling at your
likeness.
Condemning you at public displays of
Satantic litany,
Fell broken when you were in attendance.
Never again will I carry that false prophecy.
I couldn't escape your sway if I tried.