tinkering in the forge

 

a warm fire blasts, close to mortal, playing with colors on a flat light, dabbling, awed and blinded, slowly drawn, addicted, to the possibilities between light and death

for years and years, there is only light, too much. but slowly and louder, today and tomorrow, the music spins. in ballet whirls, in sparks and slivers, curve ribbon slashes, in ebbs and flows, in perpetual motion, blood and tears, with no direction, but inward and around, in no purpose, but the rhythm of the sound

sooner or later, the harsh endless light has changed, from boring to rich and intricate, the pattern is laid, the ground glows ready, to freeze the best display, as life

now this ground is sacred, no trampling, no teeth, until these hands have tugged long and deep, to pull this seared image out, increase a dimension, and allow, touching

and all the reasons come crawling, sentries out and about, fearful and loud, ominous in their shrouds, demanding a silence, swords drawn and trembling, spawned without mind, snarling to be sure, the pattern is safe

the new dimension was pulled off, the castle a dream came true, a fountain in the garden, a kindness in the breeze, a couple of sentries dozing, a watchdog at ease

but the reasons kept circling, vile weapons on the loose, threats chained to smiles, force dug deep inside, the reasons still demanded each wide-eyed visitor, in a wheedle, cotton thong, a poor imitation of song, you should, you must, you want, you need

and a listening philistine noticed, the discordant chimes, the yapping at the heels, doomed curious to ask,
why this proxy addiction, to a favorite delusion, why must you make it mine?
why not simply call off your damned reasons, and say, I want

no reasons ever understood a why, the philistine was silenced, the castle quiet, the reasons flung adrift, without their favorite lie

no destruction burns grander, than when reason pursues light, searing and slowly, the castle melts back into flat lines, the light too blinding for ashes, but enough for the reasons, to dissolve back into the forge, happy to have been alive

 

bad bad genie

 

came true poof, on a bad bad day, with a mirror for me

turning smoky knots to deny my each wish, waiting for my words to rain down on me, in acid and waste, so determined, so sure, I deserve nothing

and my curse of wearing a mirror for a face, it returns to become you, the worst in me, the failures, the lies, these houses of cards built on parasitic opinions, trembling in the rain

chanting so hard, in my name, taking so many pasts, that belonged to me, turning somersaults and morphing, showing me all the faces I used to know, that belonged to you, and therefore me, each face talking with me, telling me, sure, so sure

I am nothing, or I am you, my choice, ha ha

and your wishes come true, my fear and anxiety, of being so real and awake, in someone else's nightmare, being called my name

the ghosts of my failures, too many to bother counting, come true in your hopeful eyes, preying on my mind, sinking my forgiveness with the dire need for it, severing a tenderly held webwing, one last connection to my other reflection

I keep thinking ive been decapitated, its over, i'm gone, theres only my shadow left, parroting speech and miming change, you won, your wishes came true, mine came false

but all I have to do, is walk beside a few falling leaves,

and know, like magic, without question, between tears and thankfulness, my greatest wishes already came true, yours came false

this stirring in the wind, is my true reflection, so strong it no longer bothers with visible light, walks unafraid beside me, through you, doesnt care that you exist

and the blessing of wearing a mirror for a face, returns to become me, turns to look away from your smoke reflection, disgusted and relieved, its just another face

 

 

these muddy waters

 

offer a two-toed diagnosis of truth, distasteful and quickly cleaned up, sprayed over with cucumber and a hint of musk

every sentience is doomed to ignore its own breath, stab at immortality, float over the crunch of gravel beneath its feet and form a guilty alliance with itself to hide ugly, gut-wrenching fact

but this world can never be pristine and endless, if our apparition were clear or unreflective, it can never be alive

if we will consider hate as the voluntary about-face from the love dispenser, and worship the necessary up-face toward our own impossible greatness, I no longer know where to look, to believe in anything, my feet have gotten boring

yet if this life flowed on a bedrock downstream, and never looked back, or up, it can never be convincing enough, irony hardly justifies oxygen

no its delusion, the raison'd'etre, keeps us deserving - strapped and alive,

delusion, nature's own pyramid scheme, selling the greatest parodies of truth ever unveiled, the smell of earth on a dismal rain, these perpetual dawns, promises of new islands when the world has failed,

millions and millions of little delusions of insignificance comfortably linked to a vast and irresponsible delusion of grandeur

and the truth? a hysterical joke of course, that may never be spoken without a fake red honker, assuring the world, haha, just kidding, never fear.