I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tigery stripes, and a face on it
Round as the moon, to stare up.
I want to be looking at them when they come
-Sylvia Plath


because you're often here:
my head is booked with you,

heart wrapped in your worm;
even my feet walk where I do not want to go

thanks to old paths you laid to bone,
invisible, revived by instinct.

Don't get big headed about it -
you know my memory, I recall

every figurine caught in the web.
Many have no names now

& some of the rest are only names.
But unlike most, you're wont to escape

this night scribble brain garden,
percolating into a shapely world.

From time to time I wonder where they go,
all those strange and lovely yous

that leak in photo negative
from my mind's eye with dusky limbs

& that unforgettable voice,
paroled and incessant...

If you are ever out strolling
by your canal where the waters are so still

& so black that the drunks swerve away
& the sodium vapor eyes recoil,

& you hear following steps and look back
& there you are...
                               walk faster.

So windy outside,
it feels like this house is a boat,
sea sick feeling queazy a bit,
dizzy from the commotion of being afloat,

she loves me,
she loves me not,
if you even have to ask you already know the answer,
it’s exactly what you thought,

what’s it going to be,
choose your own adventure,
use get used win lose,
game over add another quarter,

see it feels like Time stopped,
went to sleep a young child woke up an old man,
it’s got me saying things like “When I was a kid,
we’d go down to the arcade and play video games.”,

who’s world is this anyways,
and why do I feel like this is all a dream,
I suppose I loved her because she made me feel this dream was real,
but I guess this as in us wasn’t as real as it first seemed,

I’m bursting,
at the seams,
taking the glory of this torment,
and displaying it on the screen,

so I’m back writing again,
it was either that or emotional suicide,
swear to God it’s easier to not feel at all,
than to have all these emotions bottled up inside,

see if ignorance is bliss,
and genius it torture,
than being Emotionless,
is better than being a Hopeless Lover,

still searching for something that doesn’t exist,
like a Conspiracist searching for the Loch Ness Monster,
swear it’s a curse to not live every moment as a blessing,
because there is still only now there is no happily ever after,

there is only now,
that’s how it’s always been and will be,
and right now I’m alone in this vessel that feels like a sailboat,
caught in a windstorm lost out at sea,

so windy outside,
it feels like this house is a boat,
sea sick feeling queazy a bit,
dizzy from the commotion of being afloat…

∆ LaLux ∆

Friday The 13th, April 2018

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