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Posts from the ‘Poetry’ Category

5
Jul

the confusion sets in

who’s on the ceiling
stop yelling at me
nobody’s here
who keeps touching me
where am i
why is there a door
in my back yard
i can feel it coming
but there’s no place to hide
cry in the corner
wait til it’s gone
smoke a cigarette
pretend
i am
ok

5
Jul

The Progression

Walking through the fetid
subterranean pipe,
the blood blows past me
like some archaic wind,
uninterrupted and unyielding,
eroding everything that
chances to pause too long.
The drummers in the distance
keep me on task.
Steady.
Two beats and pause,
two beats and pause.
“March on now soldier,
she’s just up ahead.”
I trudge onward like a drone
driven by a singular instinct
to survive,
to learn,
to know.
The cadence quickens,
The blood becomes louder,
I cannot feel my legs,
my eyes are blinded by the dust
of ten-thousand rusted swords.
Two beats and pause,
two beats and pause.
Their demands become louder,
“She’s just ahead,
you cannot stop.”
The tunnel is endless.
I have no memory of when
I began this forced advance.
Where did I come from?
Who am I?
Who is she?
None of that matters.
I cannot stop,
I cannot turn back.
I am the search.
I am the progression
of madness into
nothingness
until there
is no I
am
.

5
Jul

Meeting The Curtain

There is a sidewalk between worlds.
On one side there is emptiness
and on the other an infinite curtain.
It’s made of a thick, dark blue velvet
and casts a faint purple glow
that illuminates the rock path beside it.
The curtain is constantly moving
like the surface of a vertical ocean.
A small, elderly man rides a unicycle
along the sidewalk, wobbling somewhat,
as if he hasn’t quite mastered his balance.
He circles me carefully, looking up
and adjusting his slightly bent, wire-frame
spectacles that stubbornly slide back to
the tip of his nose the very next moment.
After three more orbits, he takes off,
holding one hand out and touching
the curtain, sending out waves like ripples
on the surface of a lake. I watch him disappear.
“When we touch it here”, he says, suddenly beside me,
“it changes what happens on the other side.”
I wonder to myself, “What’s over there?”
“We are,” he answers, as if my question
was directed toward him.
“Here and there are the same possibility,
but you can only look at one each moment.”
Peering down, the man spies a pebble on
the sidewalk and stoops over to pick it up.
He squints his eyes, trying to see me clearly
over his apparently useless eye-wear, and
throws the rock at the curtain with a splash.
The waves radiate out in a circle, back and forth.
My stomach begins to hurt as the disturbance grows
and causes my body to refract in the hazy
radiance of the curtain.
Dizzy.
I throw up in the sink of my bathroom.