on the underside of my skin
as it retreats
leaving behind flesh
that is malleable and soft
suddenly too large
it is conscious of its wrongness
it seeks a normalcy that it scant remembers
for the first time in forever
seeking a memory
that for so long
lived just outside its grasp
the world is flat and dull
the melody of man is broken
sounds are harsh, unforgiving
i can hear death whispering on the wind
dying in increments as
human ants crawl over
mother nature’s festering corpse
never hearing her scream
i hear your name
in the whispering wind
slowly it dampens
when you lit my whole world
living by the warmth of our internal sun
until slowly it all came undone
A monster lingers inside of me
Living in the dappled shade of my destiny
A tapestry stitched together from all my yesterdays
Woven through with unfulfilled promises and broken dreams
Some days I think it will be my only masterpiece
Stomping around my psyche
Broken and flailing
It destroys the good with the bad
It exists on a diet of self-doubt mated with misery
The middle of the night looms while I wonder about how things might have been
Ought to have been
Instead of the ground up mess they currently are
I wonder how much potential was lost; how much energy consumed
Do we disrupt the balance of the universes’ kinetic energy
By living life in lethargy
(author’s note: a stream of conscious rambling written at least a year ago that I thought I would clean up and finish but it doesn’t want polish, it wants this. Who am I to argue with the muse?)
I am a wash with sorrow and weariness
As a spectator I don’t know how you abide
I want to burn it down
And they’re not even killing mine
I am ashamed and tormented
Men reduced to hashtags
Protestors flood the street
Thoughts and prayers are offered
But nothing really changes
We drag out platitudes dull with use and wonder why they seem trite and overused. We place the burden of perfection on average people and seek ways to dismiss their loss and pain. We demand of them excellence and are quick to dismiss an entire existence because they fail to live to an unattainable standard of perfection.
We excuse the powerful and talk about safety as an excuse to abuse.
I am not offering solutions I am working out my feelings in a stream of consciousness that may appear or actually be contradictory and confusing. It is what has kept me mostly silent this week but the silence is damaging and my mind is weak.
Pray if you must but that’s not my style. I like Papa Francisco’s admonishment of praying to end hunger then working to feed people. Thoughts and payers not followed by actionable deeds are useless and condescending to the grief we are feeling collectively and a slap in the face to those grieving individually. To those who have had their lives torn asunder.
You can’t simultaneously arm a citizenry and then be surprised when they use them. If your only tool is a hammer pretty soon every problem looks like a nail.
And the issue of extra judicial killings of blacks isn’t that these men are necessarily innocent but rather their summary executions and the states unwillingness to protect their rights to due process posthumously by prosecuting their killers in the best case or even looking into the mirror society is holding up to them and realizing that there is a disconnect between those they are entrusted to protect and serve and their actions. And acting on their short falls in a proactive and thoughtful way.
the pale blue of december
wraps its icy fingers around my heart
the world gone mad
a power hungry freak
diplomacy and dignity
while whole families worry about what it means to be american
the scent of a memory entwines my mind
fleeting and fine
gossamer threads lost in time
ghosts slide sideways onto my path
sip cheap wine
reunited with youthful afflictions
wondering how i got to this place
missing those gone
repenting words not spoken
contrition my companion
a day too late
a dollar short
Your hand brushes my hip as you resettle yourself in sleep.
It reminds me of a million tiny things. Dancing in the kitchen and restless wakeful nights. Passion and pajama parties and sharing our bed with toddlers who couldn’t sleep. Wondering if we’d ever be alone again.
They’re going now. Into the wider world and I have you to myself once more.
I nestle closer and close my eyes again in quiet slumber.
I am content and we resume.
for where we are
or who we are
or what we do
or have to do
or where we go
or who we see