Kasimir Malevich. You really have no idea how
annoying you are; I look at your Black Square,
first see nothing there; an Emperor's new clothes
situation; people feigning education by rambling
meanings from blackness; Ignoring what it lacks -
it's the reverse of what art should be. That's why
it calls to me.  Isn't it?  It is rebellion, revolution,
An iconoclastic icon, there are novels within it's
empty. Are there? So I feel strongly. But as for a
Judgement...I have Nothing. It's a Black Square.

You equate me to a murderer
Because I smoke some cigarettes
I guess we'll all be down in hell
While you play harp in winged quartets.

Sure, I reach for stars just 'cause they burn
my soul's a maze so I can hide
I've scrambled "god" with "****" and "****"
Each day my head and heart collide

But art's knowing when to break the rules
And life is art, so do the math
You think I'm just a 'talking corpse'
'Cause I reject your 'purer' path?

I'm a mess but that's just fine
You live your way I'll live mine
But tell me how you can define
The One True Way to live?
When you look at minor heresies
and can't even forgive?

I'm glad you're not bewitched by me
I'm glad I'm not bewitched by you
That never will Earth's heavy orb
Float out from underneath our feet.
I'm glad that we can be funny...
messy, and not play with words,
And not redden-- a stifling wave
Upon us lightly touching sleeves

I'm glad too that before me you
Will freely embrace another
That you won't **** me to hellflames
Upset by me not kissing you
That my tender name, my tender darling
You won't recall in day nor night...in vain
That never in the church's silence
Will they sing over us 'alleluia'

I thank you with my heart and with my hand
For the fact that you -- yourself not knowing
Loved me so; for all of my peaceful nights
For rarity of meeting sunset hours
For our not-walking underneath the moon
For the sun not there with us, overhead
For you not being - alas, bewitched by me
For me not being - alas bewitched by you

My forehead is high (looks alien)
My eyebrows dark (like anger)
My eyes are slanted (too small)
My cheekbones sharp (terrifying)
My skin is pale (Boo Radleyesque)
My nose is bold (Broken?)
My lips are full (Infected?)
My hair, cold and smooth (Death)

So why do they lie to me, tell me I'm pretty.
Tell me to be happy, just 'cause I'm pretty
Say I can be anything, because I am pretty
Say just forget everything, remember I'm pretty

But I grew up with Truth.
I'm alien anger too small terrifying Boo Radleyesque broken infected death
That doesn't sound too pretty.

And even if on the outside
my shell can be called pretty
Truth stands.

Scar? let it scar let
it scar let it
scarlet

I swallowed Charybdis somehow...
I was in the Dire Strait(s) of Messyna,
Doing my Odyssey thing (such is life)
And I just swallowed Charybdis.
The funny thing is this
Maelstrom, it fits
Within me just fine
It's even vaguely useful
(drank that Scylla's blood like wine)
But there's still a sensation
I have of...mild annihilation
Of everything that was mine.

But it all still seems fine
I may be filled with a vacuum
of violent wailing waves that's
coated my heart with rime
But it'll melt with time.
(I imagine.)  

But one thing does now worry me
Moving forward, my journey
Leads to that pesky island.
Helios's; the Island of the Sun!
(Yes he's quite a brilliant one)
Now that might warm my blood
And it might tame the waves
Transform the vacuum to a tender sea
Giving more control to me
Less reckless and more truly free...
Live as who I was born to be...

But also-- Charybdis might just like...
eat all the Sun's special cows or whatever
and either he will never rise again
or I'll get speared with a lightning bolt
Which both would ****.
So I'm stuck
Imprisoned by Charybdis (ironically)
I sit here a bit catatonically
As I lock up Charybdis
Wondering how the hell (Hades?)
This monster fits within.
and wondering who swallowed who.

To play like a pawn:
Inch forward another’s agenda,
Sacrificed, no hesitation
To hope for the improbable
Other-side transformation?

To play like a rook:
Stuck in the straightforward
No room for contemplation
A bulldozer glorified
Lacking imagination

To play like a bishop:
Stick to your faith in lines
Of black and white segregation
Staunch though often wrong
Leave others to damnation

To play like a knight:
Leap over all details
Avoid altercation
But sometimes take forever
To reach destinations

To play like a king:
Spend the game always hiding
Fear killing animation
Unless you happen to just
Collapse in resignation

To play like a Queen:
Potent, adaptable,
Incarnate devastation
Consider every angle
Master of her nation
Seeking vindication.

But how do you play like yourself?