March 10, 2013

driving the broken underground...

photo by Lee Winder ©



driving the broken underground

my humanity thirsts for the Sun
I haven't seen a bright smile
in myself for years now
I try hard not to seem
so sullen to you
as I pass you by
I fall on a daily basis
all for circuses and bread
I play the fool who ambles
carrying extra weight
to hide the hollow
and because food is
a slow comfortable death
I shuffle step down the street
squinting at a blue sky looking
for directions and clouds
to hide, wondering
if the world is still indifferent
wondering if this morning
will be the rise that I fit in
wondering if today will be the day
I find where my joyful reflection has gone

most things can endure
the cold dark womb of Winter
stealing into harbors
thieving fire to warm themselves
through to the other side of possibility
I am a depressed man
and I am that creature wading
into his own locked up forever
the way a taxidermist
waits to make us all stand
whether by crawling or
retreating further inside ourselves
until shadows and shells
are all that remain
spread out onto the sidewalks
mantles and shelves
in the torrid melt of snow

I used to speak
in a language of flowers
but those kinds of words
are thin at best
and mostly decorative and dry
crafted from the splatter marks
of what I thought art used to be
those kinds of words
I'd almost rather not write anymore
those kinds of words
I consider too bare
too raw and exposed
those kinds of words
don't exactly tell you
how lucky they are
that I still want to breathe
those kinds of words
I have already given
too much of myself
away in

EJR © 

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