A silent city shoots through the night sky bold as bastards cornered in the school yard steel towers lit like candles reaching high. Time had long since left those finger tips charred; they desire fire once more before they die. History and weather have road them hard left them here to rot in the rust and ruin the corpse of an industrial bruin.
In truth the bear will ne’er be heard again, though I feel its voice call to me at night some haunted tone that resonates with pain coercing out of that void a subtle light muted memory strikes in clouds of rain gifting a pat to which I have no right. Thus I am brought to worship the carcass; my minds eye set to explore that darkness.
It smells like the cracked seal of cranberry jam warring with damp leaves and water logged sticks The air hits head on like a dislodged tram rust sharp on cold breeze like broken bricks Inner workings roil like wolf burdened lambs the disheveled pipes turning tricks. A shard of moonlight stumbles down on this old magic reaching out from the abyss.
In my youth I found challenge everywhere hidden in words with dynamic meanings discovering what it’s like to be new and make sense of the world I was born in. I hid behind books and entertainment; as if that would make me feel less alone.
Once put on stage I had to take great care to decide on my intent and leanings and pray to find success among so few who had failed life and lost all but their skin. I redefined my goals and attainment; I moved my failures into the end-zone.
My divorce left me drowning in despair nothing before had been so demeaning my children’s vision of me torn askew losing house, home, and all that I had been. I traded it all for an arraignment; she poisoned the term “father” on her own.
The days have since wore me down smooth and bare given me time for order and cleaning to find value in the years that ensue.
Things you should do before you go: – Love so deeply you cry yourself to sleep – be humbled as you watch your hero weep – give up on something you are not good at – make one attempt at “the aristocrats!” – teach a stranger how to do something new – teach them how to do it better than you – endanger yourself helping another – have a friend call you sister or brother – find your real family out in the wild – be accosted for acting like a child – break something that is irreplaceable – discover your goals are erasable – do nothing so long you are entertained – build worlds from the errant thoughts that remain – kill and bury yourself at least three times – forgive yourself of all your crimes – transcribe your mind into a work of art – share the words that are etched within your heart – lose yourself in a place you can’t pronounce – find yourself mirrored in someone who counts – tell someone you love deeply “goodbye” – be content enough with yourself to die.
Find yourself in the waters reflection the genuine self in diffused rabble now a confused amalgamation of light and propagation spread thin as to be comforted by the prison.
(you cannot leave this place) the shore impresses on the waves, as they rail against their shackles only to split their wrists and bleed out their intentions.
Might I suggest you just step away backing out of the commitment slowly take enough accountability to look yourself in the eye as you abandon it to the transient and say (goodbye) leaving it to decay or die whichever be your predilection.
The tramp trembled to look through light a fast fight with the eyes against the now nebulous night filling white wounds like flies.
And the noise! It just kept coming a deep drumming down beat to hide the sense of succumbing in a sweet thrumming treat ears decisively devour till it sours and spoils into something dark and dower in late hours tired toil.
“Could it be that damn devils drink?” the tramp thinks through the shakes light and sound beating him to brink both synced to bend and break.
Cold walls make emptiness hollow a word becomes a paragraph but the silence is often worse; that soft, sobered condemnation.
It grows on you like wilted vines masking mortar and stoic stones with a web that pulls at the bones and antagonizes the spine into emergency room lines. ‘Twas silence that broke Apollo and surely I too will follow beneath all this desolation with my own frigid narration; cold walls make emptiness hollow
but they fit the mood of the thing. So I sit, intensely alone processing all that I was shown wearing tragedy like a ring; the whole of my mind in a sling thoughts circled like an epitaph rubbed raw in stone on my behalf. ‘Ouroboros,’ the term scoured when spoken at the right hour a word becomes a paragraph.
Poisonous prose sinking inside deep within the ardent soil that place where thoughts oft wont to roil and become greater than they should louder than the self ever could spitting out erratic free verse without pause or time to rehearse and asking, “repeat after me,” so you spew disheveled debris… but the silence is often worse.
A void mirrored is oppressive a wave that splits the earth and sky sent upon us to purify turning the peaceful aggressive the charitable, possessive. Nothing is more than stagnation. It’s more than obliteration. It is the ego sacrificed sold out for a zero-sum price that soft, sobered condemnation.
Grow Gray With Me 