Mister Medusa

 

I am trying to break inside. this is not an open casket or a light source, this is my soul. It is convoluted and wary, brutal and quick, it hops off like a jackrabbit whenever truth and world collide, I am just a jailor searching for my charge. They arent big heavy bars, or Alcatraz, but my hands make excellent time and perfect locks. There are no visions and gratitude, no fears or faith, no hope or love, there are only moments that stay inside. I don't like floating inside them corridors or flying through them clouds, but I do it anyway, pursuit and capture, always unstill and demanding, are the root of my anxiety, the bane of me. And my soul, I wonder what he thinks. Oh he's a he, I used to call him she, but he didn't come closer, apparently he won't respond to flattery. He walks around, looks, all ready to stay and live each day, then I stand against him, and he's off like a shot, apparently one glimpse turns me to stone

 

and it happened

 

there were no omens this time. no crows cackling at secret jokes, when the rays of the sun fell just so,

no furry black kittens out of control, squeaking at shadows and crossing the roads.

There was only a calm uncertainty that fell prey to some sonorous truths. they simply never stopped echoing despite the madness they lived in.

No temerity, no fervor to hold, only the last remaining wish for a life well lived and the gut it took out to live it.

There was no one in this world left to ask, no one who answered, yet it was written in stone, embossed in gold.

It was condoned as time, understood as a kind of nought, like drawing a smile that doesn't exist, like explaining water to a drought.

It was an insane topsy turvy jar with a hole, shook and wasted and remembered and bent, it was only possible because we went along, and didn't stop to show and tell

It was only a little life, gratis, unspent. It was only tomorrow that peeped over the fence, and came true

 

builder

 

I'm piling pebbles and pouring sand,
I'm building hills and hoarding land
when some hills melt,
I change my hands,
when some hills grow,
I try to understand, I wait

for these hills to become,
grand mountains, roads and bridges in between
gravel laid with ornate cement railings
breathless views and visiting hordes
in moving boxes, stopping and running
like streams and rivers strung through
like undercurrents eroded from bedrock

I am waiting for movement
stolen from time
set free one day, be life
without my hands in between

 

ceaseless feathers

 

a lil hunchback of pain is what I call this day
this moment turned loud without a warning bell,
turned keen with no light in hell,
a lil old wrinkled shell within the night
without your smile,
was too dark to see
too numb to smell,
age has a way of turning
a ruined lake into a depthcharged well,
a little time for tears spaced out
between smiling and stretching today's mask,
rustling dry raindrops that never fell

 

narrow

 

these fine tangles of twine, around the ears, between the minds, these unlikely spears of control, lancing into chaos, curling into visions, narrow

inside a slingshot inside a straight spine or a skin to skin thunderclap runs the moonlight under the clouds filtered and strained, narrow,

with the few ways to call harmony of sound, the few needs to pull a mansion down, line the way with flowers, fill it with more, broken, bent and fragrant, riots of color, revolutions of sound, a sliver of light on asphalt, narrow,

pull a line of change, press a way to make haste, a way to breathe, slow or sharp, cutaway fabric from the maker's machine, precise corners, part and move away, a neat tear with survivors, narrow,

angles and time, brands and gates, a tattoo with the sound of a heart splicing open, and staying that way, for students of life to peer and break away, strings of memory, thin and white, that cling and bite, narrow,

wheat and dust held apart in two worlds, churned and made, cleaned and left with the color of rust, their parted ways, narrow

some solitudes sunk inside the bones, curved into small daggers and scales, waited to release, waited to cut, narrow

one sliver of heart and one shard of bone came together in a soundless minute and left each other to rest and to reel, turned life into mist, narrow

blood and bones, bright and sweet, did they only smile or did they seek new worlds to live in, new worlds waiting to be made, waiting to speak, waiting without a way out, narrow

breaks in the night, broken wakes of waves travelling on trembling ships, gurgles that start as they stop, are these the same or change every second, narrow

would footprints of shoesand and glass urns of Chinese legend live the same blind eternity when we look away or do they talk, exchange sorrows and watch as passing ships will, no pirate flag, narrow