Miscreants and do-gooders, tyrants and heroes, welcome.
I invite you into my mind, not so you can dissect me,
but to see if you can find a valuable connection
among this madness. For you see life starts when the coin
drops and the image of your mother clutching your baby brother
no longer makes you warm inside. There was nothing warmer
then a child’s unexpected embrace. Tiny hands on broad
back muscles cooled the seething tension of unadulterated
spite and rage. Why did I say I was here again?
To make your soul scream and ache. The human mind
is made by arthritic hands shaky, insinuating madness,
beyond glass hips shattering again beneath a swollen heart
too heavy, dripping leftover blood from last night’s
uneaten steak diner. Love is a strong word.
One of which is not meant to be said with caution,
but often needs a glowing danger sign overhead to remind
you that humans as whole do not understand
their own emotions and never will. I ’ve always been attracted
to the word debris. Reeling me in with such subtlety,
I will never know why words with such a soft release
from the lips ache for escape. Sometimes I listen to cars drive
through puddles outside on the slightly dampened street.
The splash creates a sense of wanting and I love
the feeling of feeling. Sometimes I feel as though I have lost it.
Cascading down a rabbit hole, or waiting
for a pin to drop into a ditch you have dug,
you can estimate the time, but self doubt is a killer.
I know you don’t see me, but I’m inches away
from saying I adore you again. I guess this isn’t
a time to talk about that. I don’t believe fire hates
the cold. I believe he is afraid. Miscreants and
do-gooders when you put yourself on a pedestal
no matter how high or low you can always fall.