written by
Katina Wright


That treacherous sojourn

to where you have not yet gone

when all the sign posts

are directing you to the land

of likeness with blurred definition-

Do you find your way across

the mountainous design,

its pitfalls taking years

of recovery. The arrows of

obstacles target each new discovery

as weakness or flaw

seep through the cracks of

the world you have constructed.

There’s a darkness the moon shines through.

Its illumination scathing in waves of intermittent anger

with humor as the chastising element of

those that would be friends

try to curve you, contain you, malign you

into staying in your place.

There is a presentness they feel most comfortable

with you being in.

My prison cell was self-constructed

through years and years of self-contempt.

There was great effort to contain the anger

that bread -- keeping from spewing it

amongst the people who I had somehow become surrounded by-

those strangers that look at me with rotating

contempt or curiousity.

Finding my wild woes winging

I'm gone to someplace new again.

There's always a crowd gathering saying

" Places, its time to start"-

and again we're off and running with

crooked smiles that belie some false sense -

that authority ringing its ways down the

finance tube holding us all prisoner to

the pie in the sky falling

apart we find walking little willow females

having sold their souls in desperation for love

and finding only the birth passage

dry of amniotic fluid - the pain of its release

an utterance of the unbearable.












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