Still
My heart, for once, perfectly still,
The ceiling close, and I can feel
The thing I nearly want-
But after stillness, pain,
Life refuses to yield
To will, and I'm no longer still.
I feel the love song bleeding out
Through numb fingers
That shake. Shaking-I can not be still,
And electricity finds my arms and legs,
Hurting me as I rise,
And search the room,
Eyes stinging with tears,
My throat fills with something
Sweet, so sweet I need it out,
And I race, then,
Aching, aching, until
I can let it go-release it.
Then my heart truly beats, and I
Feel disgust.
Sometimes I feel that still.
Keys
Strange, isn't it,
The alchemy that turns
A god into a child,
A man into a snake?
And strange that words
Make things, also
And that people make much use
Of words.
A word is a snake
You must handle with care.
It may turn around
And bite you.
Reflection
Mirrors:
A reminder one has a face,
A mask,
Expressions.
See yourself,
Both hidden and revealed.
Not yourself?
Your expressions are personal,
But your face is not yourself.
Can one love a mirror?
It reflects what is,
But not who is-
But you are behind your reflection
Like black behind a mirror.
An Animus
Have you seen a green man?
He is evil, and he lies to you.
He says he is a thief,
But he is a wizard
And he will take you away
Where the dark things live.
He is a cunning man,
With black gloves that feel like fur
When he touches you.
He lives like a king
Where the dark things live-
He can make you a queen,
But he takes you.
Music's his air,
His food like honey,
And you are never left alone-
Never alone.
He can tell a grand story
That begins with a river
That leads to a cavern,
Deep underground,
Where it flows to a spring
Where the water is sweet,
But it makes you forget.
He takes you.
You can never grow old,
And he will never die.
He takes you.
The sky is not blue.
The world does not spin.
The sun does not shine,
If he takes you.
You will live on old songs
And drink riddles,
And sleep well,
But not deeply,
But not often,
If he takes you.
Philadelphia
My filthy city
Wraps around me
Like a worn-out towel,
Light and breathable.
I am safe inside it;
I disappear.
And the city is so much bigger
Than me.
I am lost.
I can go days and days
And so no one I know,
Or knows me.
At a certain hour of night,
The city is all highway-
A blister on I-95.
The three o'clock air swishes in
The car window-
And the sound roars in your ears.
A beautiful night-picture it:
Sixty-four degrees
And a pitch-black sky
Highlighted by the refinery,
Passing the exits, one and another,
And another,
Each one closer to home.
From here, the city is all highway,
Nothing but cars,
Few at that.
You drive fast-
The night knows no speed limit.
The bars are all closed,
And the city either sleeps,
Or drives.
Take some dozen miles in your life,
Looking for the perfect high
Or whatever,
Some dozen thousand make up your life,
But you go over this same stretch
Over and over again,
Like déjà vu.
Where did you go?
Out.
Exit after exit,
Stiff, tight, tired,
The wind in the window
All that keeps your face off the wheel,
You're out all right.
But all the bars are closed,
And the city's just a highway,
After all.
That Words Won't Suffice is Enough
You have rooted my sorrow
And the days have buried it deep.
It will not be moved.
Hate will not reach deep below those days,
New love will not destroy those roots.
The sorrow stays where it is, as it is.
If I do not see you, you will also stay-
As you were, where you are.
You will not wither.
Not nourished with such strong roots as these.
Rameses II
I see now in the stupid flaring of your dark passions
The ironic symbolism and the one great truth,
The making of all legends and
The genesis of the poetry that inspires you:
A man can't stay hard forever.
No, not even yourself-but must give way with time
And constant friction and care.
This is no slight thing, but rather all mortality
Caught up in a single moment
Of distraction.
And the strongest blow against me with time
To, shall soften, naturally,
As your impression fades.
And I can't help but call that to mind,
Thus: your passion.
You are not the father of the darkest part of me.
Against that you are impotent,
Mute, numb.
It is greater than all you ever did or said.
I made it with bitter spit and sweet tears-
You stood there as I passed.
Self-Portrait
And some would even call me ugly,
If they knew what I was-
A blasphemy on the lips of saints.
I am a woman-and violence
Stirs the air around me,
But inside, I'm an explosion-
I seethe, I burn-
This is nothing new.
I will not bother to be vague.
I know hate too well
To veil my words with words.
I have lies outside of me,
But that keeps truth safe within.
I am a woman-
Too strong to be foolish,
And to weak to be clever.
I am the only portrait of myself
That is real.
A Vision
A thing from heaven that can't be put
As eloquently as curses from men-
But can still be held.
What he is to me is the candle
At night, keeping me
From all that darkness
I still see.
The world can not end-
No, he is there.
It is a if innocence could be regained,
As if hurt could be forgotten,
As if wounds could heal.
The world may even be right,
If he is in it.
I could even believe.
Observation
Sometimes one bed of calm
And warmth and decent things
And dreams that feel like
Childhood truths and joy
And all we pray for,
Is a bed lonely except for one
Who completely understands,
Or doesn't pretend to.
Of Secrets
My altar is the world, and I
A priestess without a god
In sight. Here, alone,
I seek the truth,
But find I remember lies instead.
I ponder what you've done and been,
That makes you what you are to me.
I ponder what I've known and seen,
That keeps me silent, still.
Your favor was no favor to me-
Only to something in yourself,
And yet I wonder what it is,
That lets you keep your lies,
And makes me keep my secrets.