My eyelids are curtains
That cast a silhouette of my soul,
You're blind to what's behind them,
While they remain closed
They wait to open;
And the light will soon shine
Front and center stage,
An audience of people
To watch my life play;
It is a show, every single day
curtains may cover my heart, leather may shade my eyes
but perform it must, my everlasting soul
oh by the chains of my great master I trace lines through dust on this ancient stage
Puppeteer, your strings are razor blades I cannot touch
Do you smile your jagged teeth behind the lights as I limp
left stage right stage
hands tied, lips bruised
while I am delicately yet surely sliced in two?
you once felt kind breath slip over your tongue, you envisioned
orchids given at night.
Such devious motives you now posses, time
My recital for one wears away skin
on the tips of my toes, keep tearing
moving upward snaps my fingers crooked elbow
ARISE FROM YOUR SHADOWS AND FACE ME
for I know this pain well
Ah mirrors mirrors you fool me
You have adopted my face, adopted my grin
blink blink it will not clear
it will not falter
i see- leather
crumpled in spotlight
stage right stage left
there are particles floating there are shards of littered glass
Dear audience do applause, I did it
I tore my skin, broke my bones, limped side to side
Puppeteer do forgive my twisted image for I needed you to blame
Secrets secrets treat me well, for I have nothing else to sell
Forgive me empty seats, row 1 row 2
I must try, I must try
to crawl offstage
an invention made to hide,
to give a sense of security;
can be dangerous.
can keep you from the truth,
keep you from your life
outside your life.
can make you feel stranded
can make someone go crazy,
crazy enough to take a bottle,
and a gun.
will make you drive around for two days,
about your two sons.
will make the hot fat tears roll down your face
in embarassment and pain and agony.
will put that one bullet in the gun,
put that gun to your head,
if you let it.
NEW neighbors came to the corner house at Congress and Green streets.
The look of their clean white curtains was the same as the rim of a nun's bonnet.
One way was an oyster pail factory, one way they made candy, one way paper boxes, strawboard cartons.
The warehouse trucks shook the dust of the ways loose and the wheels whirled dust-there was dust of hoof and wagon wheel and rubber tire-dust of police and fire wagons-dust of the winds that circled at midnights and noon listening to no prayers.
"O mother, I know the heart of you," I sang passing the rim of a nun's bonnet-O white curtains-and people clean as the prayers of Jesus here in the faded ramshackle at Congress and Green.
Dust and the thundering trucks won-the barrages of the street wheels and the lawless wind took their way-was it five weeks or six the little mother, the new neighbors, battled and then took away the white prayers in the windows?
You tell me to close the curtains.
"Close the curtains so the neighbors won't see!"
But one thought rings out clear in my mind --
The curtains won't change what you're doing to me.
Even if the world's in the dark
About what happens under the cover of night,
It still hurts, it still happens, and it is real.
The situation is desperate for light.
You can try to belittle me -- go right ahead.
But I know something you don't know.
Hit me, hurt me, try to knock me down;
I have nowhere left to go.
I've already hit rock bottom;
I've got nowhere left to fall.
So, close the door behind you --
Because I'm going to tell it all.
Her vitals are dropping like flies
The air in the room is staler than bread
Everyone here is a critic of sorts
Amidst curtains and curtains of black, sunken eyes
Her dreams are breaking like stone
The table beside her is colder than ice
She feels love on her arm but can’t love it back
Can only see curtains of palpable bones
So meager, her breath, it drops.
A star has stowed away
In a part of my heart
The sky being this large, blunt chart
With the bright backbone: a strip of powder cloud
And the fussy dust beneath our boots
The chaparral under foot
Blooming purple, dry, splitting the cough drop earth
Red rock by rock
Our talking warms me
The taste of mint julep and tea
We, sweet past times: all they matter
Had a nail between us to hammer faster
There could have been curtains in our home
Were we grown;
Cantaloupe soaking in the sink
To string up at the brink
Think of how dry it got
The plants in their pot
Living as such--
Meanwhile, the clock combusted
Pounded out notes upon every hour
Its golden limb swinging up, lilting, wilting in its tower
Life deployed beyond this, grazing every flower
Their implicit movement stalls;
My nights wrapped in my shawls
Dark timber bark laments
In the fire so well spent
Rocking, I have remained here;
From the farthest port
You came with teeth and things
Deliberate and outward bending, which scorches
Retires on porch swings
Shares time, stolen from what silent world may be out there
Bundled, told: "Handle with care."
But I do not care to pick at straws, or to stare
Between your eyes,
The lines beneath them
The calligraphic flourish
Touring deep, steeply descending
The tiled smile, pretending
Creaking, scarcely there and perishing;
I have not uttered your name
In the dark of this home
I have printed it, though, on occasion
In the pictures I hang
On the walls of this tomb
Painted path, fire we fashion
All the bits of compassion lodged like salt in my bones
Only thinking of your thoughts
Sipping slowly from your cup
Shuffling to the border in the corner of the world
Where the blooming sky is hastened
In its spatial recreations
That has fallen falls again,
Calling back, fiercely contend
Dynamics of a spark
A black hole tears itself apart
The where we are, the where we start;
Oh, Come the Day we might
Give less regard to light
Were I to move to where you are
Across the room, one room too far
It seems to me that I, in staying
Have distended what was fraying
Yet I stay- at least today
And may tomorrow bring the rolling, cetacean clouds back into orbit
May the sun fall with the rain
May my love call back again;
Once more, I think,
it's six in the morning,
and the birds aren't singing.
the clouds are rumbling,
and the winds are roaring.
this quite old
and creaky house
somehow manages to muffle
with the help
of my cozy, blue blanket,
a warm cup of black coffee,
Imaginations clouding my mind
with what beauty lies inside
only a glimpse I can see
through the window by the tree
The size and scale I cannot determine
shadows from lamps dance in line
between the broken wooden frame
from my side each shadow looks the same
Story concealed by a wavy curtain
about the truth I cannot be so certain
In my mind images shape up and grow
while my heart lies in just the beautiful shadow