There is something to be said about sadness-
there are levels-
Remember,
these two words:
"Divine - Sorrow"
when I first met the Almighty,
I had already been a child for years;
I survived,
then I fell asleep.
I never woke up again.
I can see that you are confused..
If so,
May I suggest that you,
listen from the room
behind your eyes.
The one with no door,
Lay down,
With your back,
and head
on the bed;
But, leave your feet
on the floor.
There, on the ceiling in your head,
Painted from corner to corner
is a very cold small planetary garden,
Go there, and wait for me.
if you are reading these words,
I am already in the stomach of death;
Only the soul of my breath is here still,
Awaiting digestion.
Although,
I know a physician specializing
In didacticism,
I would suggest
that you not call him;
until morning.
When I have left the body.
However, tonight sleep in a fetal position.
Because I love you.
Because, you are very much meant to love and be loved.
something for the weaknesses
Is perfection.
the doctors,
have reasonable logical analysis,
maybe some other theories, about my condition.
They will tell you -
that i have mental disorders -
That my past drug addictions
made it easier for my sickness
to manifest-
It's_self
They will tell you, "like anyone else ...
Your father is dying he needs help;"
And I know you'll be laughing inside
and I'll be smiling
Halfheartedly,
walking through
woods behind my eyes,
Conversing with
trees and wind,
Sitting with the golden orb-weaver,
he tells me the names of the
Stars; I never ask him for his source,
For he weaves replicas of
The universe, while the world sleeps,
Then, as I walk a little further,
four-spotted palpitas
Flicker in the light of the
Many moons
of my minds-sky,
Every one of them,
The trees,
The wind,
The spider,
The moth,
All the moons...
Everyone of them speak to me with the voice of my father.
I am here most of days
Emptying my eyes,
Pouring myself out
Over the long bent grass
Of his words..
then,
Here I am again,
In the doctor's office lobby,
It's cold,...
I put my hands in the
bottom;
front pockets
of my jacket.
And, there in the pocket
I find a empty pill bottle,
(written in the fine print on the prescription label)
A little side note they send my soul,
regarding death;
before calling my name
in the waiting room,
It said,
" if you want to stay awake
Flush one pill down the toilet
A day"
Yes....there is work
yet to be done, and
I am not just the skin,
wrapped in thick blood,
running down
The throat
Of dry..dry veins
that
gurgle me down
impatiently,
Into, the stomach of death.
Where...
The lobby,
smells like blended
plastic machines burning,
And
tired lives;
expiring slowly.
I sit here,
waiting to be called,
The minutes are empty
from 1 to 60
There is nothing there...
Staring at dusty picture frames dangling from clinging nails,
Barely holding their place
On the wall
But they are only dusty,
plastic and glass...
and nothing else in here
Is where it used to be,
nothing is where I put it;
Unless I hid it from myself...
There is no-thing here,
I have lost my moons...
My elements
incomplete in unrest.
You and You.
Are a
thousand million
light years
Away,
I miss your gravitational waves and the wind that was yours when
You danced like a dervish
Across the edge of the walls of
Stratos,
I was slipping in and out of space
And again 0001 00 100 00...
When you left...
Why did you take all of your
Photographs?
I miss
peering into your worlds;
I long for you both...
Savagely, in whispering rain,
In blood,
with veins of wild fires.
