I was not even here.
Raw and pure fear, nature’s primal son,
I don’t think so, I’m not that one.
Ahead on the road,
At that heavy branch that fell in the storm
Last night and every night before that?
Not there, ahead, not the horizon
Farther, that’s just the Sun,
Those are more planets and stars.
I was feeling the heart of my gods.
Further, where it’s only dark,
There I was, where I wasn’t there.
When elegy and metaphor
Were juicy fodder
For self-destructive, heart-broken poets young,
There were just lyrics in my lung.
Your kisses, on old pages
get smudged, washed away,
when the first tears edge
past my tale of every day.
The furniture in my head
turned rickety, gave away —
memories can’t sit or stay,
thoughts won’t go out to play.
You left but left behind
new shadows on my x-ray,
even in this wretched haze
I still can see your face.
Perched on highrises, find
by the thick skin on the thick skin of its behind
that comes off when it needs
to breed, to feed,
to bleed the oily earth for its greed,
the animal that is our kind.
Sure and secure in this pure shallowness of yours,
Keeping notions, devotions and the “right” outlook,
Eager to please the trustees, of an ancient disease,
Please! Off your knees, the guarantees are no one’s to keep.
Take not my word that your herd is absurd, but do start
Ignoring the lores, just open your doors; and I
Can vouch that every pore will explore the magic
Around, that surrounds every sound, every trivia,
Leave the spurious, be curious and one big odd-ball.
Limericks were supposed to be fun,
But I couldn’t write, not even one
That I could call perfect,
I sit back and reflect,
If this poet’s journey is all done.
In the end, you will bend your own head,
Spread the thread of unsaid thoughts instead
Of the lies you mainlined,
So astutely aligned
With the path, that you’ve chosen to tread.