The angst1 of awareness
chokes my soul
beholds my whole
extols2 a toll
while extanting3 why I am in the world.
The angst of awareness
pierces the disdain
shreds me with pain
detects the insane
while proclaiming how I am in the world.
The angst of awareness
screams for freedom
belies4 my real-dom
reveals the heal-done
while personifying who I am in the world.
March 7, 2001
1Angst....to impair or destroy the composure of
2Extols...to honor (a deity) in religious worship; to pay tribute or homage to
3Extant...Still in existence; not destroyed, lost, or extinct: Standing out; projecting, having existence or life; occurring or existing in act or fact
4Belies...to prove or show to be false; to give an inaccurate view of or by representing falsely or misleadingly.
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It is cold and lonely
inside my body. I
shiver a lot. Mostly
from the coolness of
feeling empty, like an
old house that has lost
its right to provide shelter
for someone, anyone.
It is cold and lonely
inside my head. I quiver
most days as I search
for some place, any place,
not this place, that is
safe and warm like
a puppy cuddled up
against its mother.
It is cold and lonely
inside my heart. I deliver
each day, a part of me
that can stand the light
without too much fright,
while knowing the right
to life was short-circuited
along time ago.
It is cold and lonely
inside my hands. I
tremble from the bones
outward having never
been grounded in flesh,
my flesh, sufficiently
to feel the power
of gripping life, my life.
It is cold and lonely.
March 14, 2001 (5:08pm)
Like an old friend,
you come in the night
as a wisp of cool air
that awakens my soul,
lifts my spirit,
and chills my body.
I find comfort in your presence,
knowing it is chance that you bring
in the lifeless parts of myself
that are unfamiliar
and uncomfortable in any form.
Your curiosity surprises me
as you scan my body,
my thoughts,
the bursting goose bumps on my skin,
and my sense that you are not here to take me.
You prod me with reminders
that shoot icy stilettos of fear
through every cell of my existence,
imploding my sense of self
into a thundering knowing silence.
I grapple to understand
the knowing that keeps
slipping off the tips of my awareness
sending me shivering back into the darkness
wondering what have I lost, again.
As my old friend,
you come in the night
as a wisp of cool air
that awakens my soul,
lifts my spirit,
and chills my body.
January 3, 2 010
With an archaic regard,
I stand before you
curious and with great awe.
All around and deep within
feels like the touch of darkness
at the bottom of a naked well,
where, life has drug me
to this place of utter despair,
where, waves of desperation
roll over and over and over,
where, the coldness
makes even my soul shiver.
“I have been here before”
filters through my mind
less comforting
than a memory and
more matter of fact
than a thought.
“I wonder” crosses my lips
more like a plea than
a curiosity and floats away
like a leaf dancing in the air
as it falls from the tree on
its only journey,
returning to the earth.
Twirl, float, twirl, twirl,
float, twirl, float, float,
the words know
where they are going
and yet dance
with total disregard
like a ballerina lost
in the flow of life.
“I wonder” begins to simmer
like a black-hole of the soul
wherein nothing matters
but this moment,
this moment
where all that has been
vanishes into dense
darkness.
“Get Real”
startles even the gods
as the thunderous
voice of the naked darkness
reminds me
that I am not
a guest nor even
an innocent bystander.
Terrified,
fear explodes from my pores like cold sweat burning from a fever until
I drop into the eternal depths
and forthrightly bow
surrendering to the starkness,
yielding to what is,
knowing that in this single act
I acknowledge that which has always been and take my place within the darkness.
2007
It is easier to be alone
when no one is home
so please pack your bags
and move on.
I look into your eyes
and see no one is home
I wonder where I went
and realized it’s you that’s gone.
Chorus
I listen to your words
and hear they’re not for me.
I wonder who they are for
and would rather not know
Chorus
I feel your body next to mine
and touch the hardness of time
remembering what was once soft
has turned cold and unkind.
Chorus
I smell the perfume of yearnings
and the scent of what you seek
as I realize the desire for me
is parched and gone dry.
Chorus
I taste your tongue’s search
and savor what won’t be mine
as you dream of something or
someone other than me.
I have many faces.
Faces for work,
faces for play,
faces for whatever
I think that I
might need one.
Do not be confused,
for these are not masks.
Masks are surreal,
whereas my faces are not.
They are me
in all
of my facets,
until one day I no
longer need it.
Then, it becomes a mask
that served me well.
April 29, 2002
I am here.
Not there
in my memory
or imaginations
or fears.
I am here
in my body
in my soul,
as a single whole.
I am here.
I am here.
I am here.