the breeze i stepped into
face first, head strong
whipped into an icy slap
on wet raw skin, burning cold.
frozen toes wiggle for friction
to warm the frostbite
off my instruments so i can
trip the light fantastic,
spin out my sorrow
through following the dance
beating within my bones - but,
my extremities are numbing
as a weak engine pumps in overtime
to keep the train rolling,
and circulation recoils
to a comfortable center of
stationary pulsating warmth,
restrained by fear of icy rejection
spit from a cruel peanut gallery.
oh, their words stick to me
wool strands on mangled velcro -
even when they retract,
the fibers remain embedded in claws
no hours of untangling can release.

instead i am craving hot heavy hands
to cradle the crumbs of this
disintegrating soul.
place them in a mason jar
to feed your withering interest,
but scraps won't satisfy
the starving growl of this monster,
so eat me up and spit me out
rearrange the goop
to create a picture on your plate
of guts and glory
that tell a sickening story
where the joke runs reversed
and the punchline hits you first -
followed by watered down
explanations for situations
you'll forget once you step through
that tavern door, hit the floor,
and spin round three times
dont look in the mirror
god forbid you utter a rhyme,
or reflections of forgotten ghosts
will rise from your glassy eyes...
quick! paint them over one, two, three times
with dusty excuses, tinkering
with time pieces to turn it all back
maybe this ride round
the cycle will snap back
into forward motion...
but intention begets direction,
and your heart is set on distraction by fire.
burn the sight from your eyes
so nothing but the smoke from flames
will rise into your mind,
smothering cries from olden times
that are calling you back to the order divine.
but here you are, fulfilling the prophecy
proclaimed by white men in black ties
standing six feet below, all in a row:
"well well little darling,
your house is in ashes
your feet stuck in the snow
who will you turn to? where will you go?
better run back into our arms,
where silent sedated clones grow."

just wipe the madness from your ears
open your eyes and see through the tears.
where your home was burned down
a cosmic garden was sewn,
and when the ground is watered
by the outpouring of your heart,
wildflowers and birch trees will sprout.