Sunday, April 29, 2007

"two minute whiplike threads of protoplasm"

I’m not afraid of the dark
Afraid of a demon reaching up and stealing my identity
I am my own demon, angel, transient being.

Duck ponds remind me of our love affair
As do promiscuous squirrels and Mediterranean food.
First time I rode a bike in over ten years was with you.
I’ll never forget how much you sounded like Howlin’ Wolf
Or Bob Dylan when he says, “thank you”.

You told me I was a bad writer and it cut me to the quick.
Not sure why your opinion means so much or why
I became so overwrought when you refused to listen.

Going to the library bittersweet since our breakup,
Checking my email nowhere near as exciting nor is
Talking about music or looking at clothes.
I was like a kid in a candy store when we first recognized
Each other at that ballpark on the outskirts of town.

I know you don’t understand what it is I’m doing or why my life
Is always in such a state of disrepair while I dispense of the rules
And go my own way. I want so badly to be a hero, a visionary, a
Romantic figure and perhaps I am or perhaps I’m not.

We stand alongside an infinitesimal number of golden rules
Praying we don’t break beneath the pressure or begin seeing
Ourselves through someone else’s eyes and all I want is to
Figure out how to not look back so I can move forward
Instead of sideways or backwards.

April 25, 2007

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