Oh my pain,
I know you’ve shed your final tear.
On your dry tongue remain the last syllables.
You took on dignity in passing,
and yet you’re still here.

I feel you distinctly,
and I’m glad you no longer struggle with the fear.

I keep writing poems about the same thing,
as if stuck between floors.
It still matters, framed in metaphors,
half-closed eyelids splitting colors apart.

I echo the same words again and again,
silver threads, the tree,
indigo liquid flowing by my spirit.

I want you to reveal language in full light.
I want to grasp you,
touch the pulp flowing through meaning’s veins,
bypass the swollen ego
and touch what you truly are.

My imagistic thinking won’t let me
fully grasp my role.
I ask once, and I will ask endlessly,
searching for the proper frequency.

Today I board the train again,
writing these words across empty autumn fields
of yellow, brown, and breaking grasses.
Cold rain.
Moisture wraps my bones in ache.

The wind whispers,
wheels of the carriage,
and I am calm.

What I know is that behind the teeth
the tongue lies still,
and landscapes flicker in the eyes,
the diffused nature of things.

I take my pencil.
I return to the beginning.
I start another cycle.



Epilogue


I will save myself from indifference,
from consent to the blurring of meanings.

To every poem I add another shard,
another mirror.

A new sign is born,
an idea becoming a thing,
seen by everyone.

We want it good all the time
No sunburnt noses
only shine
No howling wolves
only starry skies

Able to walk alone into the darkness on a
cool summer breeze
night

Campfire and crickets
No wrong versus right
The gentle trickle of a clear running stream

Imagine the world when all of the predators
leave

you say take a leap
as if I haven’t already
leapt into glass
face-first
on several occasions
and called it “character development”

my mouth also tells the truth
usually by accident
usually when I’m trying to be quiet
it bleeds confession
like it’s proud of the mess

suffering can wait, you say
mine doesn’t —
it schedules recurring appointments
leaves Post-It notes on the fridge
DON’T FORGET: SELF-LOATHING @ 3PM

still

I’ve outgrown despair before
like old skin
like last year’s aesthetic
I evolve compulsively
out of spite

you say thought has antigravitational engines
mine does too
but I’ve replaced the safety protocols
with loud music and intrusive memories

fine.

I’ll feed myself knowledge
even if it tastes like chalk
even if philosophy gives me heartburn
even if truth arrives dressed as humiliation

you say, take a leap into your voice
sure — but understand
my voice doesn’t come out as speech
it comes out as collision
as laugh-crying at 4am
as poetry disguised as deflection

so let the sun come from my mouth?
no
let something stranger

let me exhale neon
static
radio transmissions from the version of me
that survived a different timeline

I will leap
but don’t call it bravery
call it malfunction
call it momentum
call it **** it, why not

if I become a smile
know this:

it will be lopsided
unsettling
and honest.

hold
my
breath
>¡<                  >¡<  
( >¡< )
             >¡<
>¡<             billions      >¡<      
of
butterflies
escape
my

ribcage


[10W]
SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/2/2017

inspire

from Latin

in - into
spirare - breathe

literally to breathe

When I was a child,
Something happened, that was
Pretty wild.
Sat on the carpeted floor,
Playing with a matchbox,
Captain Webb,
First Channel swimmer 1875,
Was depicted.
I pushed it open, just a Sliver,
Looking into the darkness within,
Suddenly a feeling of intense joy filled my whole being,
A fleeting glimpse,
Of the eternal.
The next thing I know,
It's just a matchbox, no problem,
I'll just do the same thing again, and return to that place again, but it didn't work!
I never experienced that place again, but never stopped trying.

the world doth observe
this leader's brilliant prowess
in its eye sight's view
he'll be well remembered
for his leadership's greatness