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.