| POEMS |
| Like an intricate pattern of webs you and i are bound together through fibers thin but strong which is what i am or thought i was able to break the bind but i am not strong enough for the ties though invisible are woven carefully as you and i are unaware of something caught in our web that cannot break free so it tears and rips the pattern so intricately woven between You and I --------------- Silence Slip into the silence I seek sleep and quiet The end of the noise; pounding head, screaming mind I want to lie with the sleeping dogs The arch of a cloud, electric cold air Smell the fresh nothingness, eternal clear blue There is peace in poverty Born and leave with nothing, nothing Something creates cacophony – something, something Death is but a moment from birth to birth No gift after life, life is the gift No silence to slip into I slip inside myself Noise within, noise without Silence is a thunder --------------- Inspired by: Anne Stevenson’s The Victory (first line of first four stanzas are hers) I thought you were my victory With you I had sole control My frigid and impotent story Holding back my soul Tiny antagonist, gory From which my life stems from Against you I played constant war But someone else has won How can you dare, blind thing To reach where you’re not wanted? Now to soar with clipped wings A feeling to be haunted Snail! Scary knot of desires! To want for something not my own He pricked me with his briar I thought you were my rock – my stone? Please, let be me Please, let me stay I only want to be alone --------------- Selfish to escape my reflection Swallowed by shards of shattered glass --------------- It falls on me hitting like a Tear been welled up for generations the barrier broken my windows dashed to a thousand specks no flesh to hold It up no buckets to catch the spill lines drawn in rips form the gutters for the flow draining my ocean It has given me my outlet to pressure my release cutting deep into my flesh flawing my winded desert bringing Life where there was uninterrupted still --------------- formed by an artist critical eyes wiped away flaws created to please the ascetic art’s function is it’s beauty in that I am perfect look close look deep you will not find a scratch on my surface porcelain mask my skin is fair pleasing to the eye his eye my creator art’s function is not to teach it is not to have an opinion it is not to make one think it is not practical art has no life outside it’s creator it exists only in his world for his pleasure why then is this porcelain shell so heavy? why do I want to crack the surface? why do I want to expose the flaws so carefully smoothed over so carefully hidden by the thick layers of perfection? did he create me or was I created before? did this piece of art exist before his molding? I was shaped to please not myself but him what a piece of work am I but no more to lie lying dormant is impractical as is this mask my art is practical my art is flawed stretching I learn to bust thick layers of years thick layers of lies thick layers of hidden meaning ascetic yes but now I emerge to teach to opinionate to think to be practical to be art to Be. --------------- Words I know not where they stab but deep inside they sink somehow I feel cut in pieces sliced open with vulnerability Bloodlessly Bleeding Broken There must be something inside I felt a shiver run through more than just my skin Your breathless words don’t penetrate my flesh but something else Shaking with weakness for loss of blood or breath you stab again penetrating to patch my Soul reassuring yes something alive inside I felt a shiver run through more that just my skin --------------- |