Shuffling on the dry balls of your padded paws.
Impermanence, your affliction.
Hard exacting breaths from decades of sauntering.
Protesting each movement to fling earth’s weight from your mind.
The weight must land elsewhere.
No more burning up the open plains.
Alive with dullness.
You, a bitter lioness.
Working bones unasked for fractional effort.
Heart wanting recompense from both moon and sun.
Roaring from miles away at injustices served.
Laying waste to shared land.
Sour notes break into others’ dreams.
The bitter lioness will disappear.
Upon the shrinking sands, an old lion slaughters its cubs.
And all other reminders of its imminent death.
to break ‘the rules’ in accordance with your understanding of them
love, the loaded chain ascribed to bind your complicated heart
twisted metal must eventually cut blood flow
suffer the sane, suffer the insane
there is not a singular countermove
weighted shackles are duty bound to drag you down
all the way
sink your entirety below the waters of realism
of pain, of fear – the drowning
come here, move in very close to me
let me help you, sweetheart
as we descend into the bottomless sea
into your panicking soul
I will whisper, above the chink of padlocks
the only secret worth dying for
I will murmur into your ear–
how to blackout the pain, void the fear
oh my darling,
is there breath yet left
the torture of your compromised heart
must joyously accept its doom
do not be afraid
I’m still waiting for you
I think I’ve always been
I know I’ve always been
forty years past
scanning the stars glued inside my baseball cap
before each at bat, desperate not to strike out
thirty years ago
face first, hair second, brain third
hoping you’ll notice me
twenty year flashback there I am running
six miles alongside the busiest roads
why don’t you pullover and take me away
fifteen years ago
off those roads striving for inroads
sending, sending, sending
out my door, into yours
hoping something manages the mail slot
ten years recent past
what a tease
you were never really interested
I wasn’t even close was I
I can wait no longer wait for you
all my past tactics have failed
there is no one to find me
you were never there
I must turnaround
I must stop dreaming
no fantasy fingers will tie my work to a star
with a glittering red bow
I must float on my own
I will fall flat and be trampled upon
by more creative beasts
my little monster love book must now be sold and I must sell it.
“…I could burn with the splendor of the brightest fire or else I could choose time…” –Lament from Evita