Tuesday 14 March 2017

pie

It dried into the wool today before
I had even realized, there was a reopening.
Solid snow kicked freezing bleeding pouting skin
Butting through shoulder pads of rubber soled
Glistening boots out into the cold first cut, first
Glance, price of youth, price of love bubbling through veins,
Percolating perfection perforating the thin bin of the everyday.

My body is trying to open itself up.
Solid form storming through, born a reckoner,
Seconding blended misties, thrifty and trendy, bending
Altered morals, wending ways along byways and highways
To a piece of sleep, the peace of the everyday.

But in the narrow streets filled with snow
I come across it, splayed across the world
Like the blooming carcass of god.

The bedroom has cancer, stance against the night
So upright and practiced, airtight seal to feeling right.
When I am alone I cannot go there, I am not strong enough.

And lately, bikes have been pitching me sideways,
Small glitches in well-versed arguments
Disrupting the intoned pitches of the shadow self
Mirroring the abrupt end of the body with its
Soft edges and fuzzy margins, hollowing out
The fear of death, the fear of rebirth, the fear of just one life,
The fear of importance.

Here I am again: burnt hole in the world
Through which the thread is pulled.
Self-conscious windowpane.
Eye in the fireplace.
Dust of the vents.
Salt in the darkness of the empty kitchen.

I am fighting to stay alive.
We all are. In small ways.
Not for life. But to be alive to it.
Fighting the absurd thoughts and ways that keep me from BEING
Suddenly in the exploding night air,
Cosmos folding out above my craned neck,
The beauty of it turning me river, turning me song,

Turning me sunset.

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