This poem is a fiction created around memory and fantasy becoming intertwined. So one can not tell them apart. Our guilt and our self justification become confused, our moral compass misaligned. This disorientation must not be allowed to make you afraid. If it does, you will miss the chance to go through the next door. And the opportunity doesn't roll around everyday...
Please, don’t play that Song.
it activates the toxins
stored in my brain
years of patient degradation
flood clutter
raising itself
into a pillar
myself, I abase
to forget
signal regret hones
in its echo. I am.
slumped on a bean bag
listening
but don’t remember
and why didn’t I…
groping round the hazy corner
to a man there
pale, the moon
entangled in the sheets
pushing forward
sliding down
into a boy, in the shed,
crying, what have I done
twang a distorted chord on a broke guitar
back to the black seed
don’t you understand
I am that man
Atlas, rolling the world
off my shoulders into bed
no more to hold but pin.
Naked with an animal
No feeling more alone.
grappling the past in heat
Stars flood the mind
pollen of poison
no jar to catch
and if I remember than
I am
so very crazy,
(what a thing to say)
put on mask,
take off face,
those gears,
beautiful black and white lines
swirling
verygood.
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