Snapshot of a Mirror Crack’d

I hear you.  I hear you with your silken, solemn voice, appealing, waving at me, dreary midnight.  I perceive your soothing whispers.  What is left of me.  I know there had never been a point of reconciliation, of liquid and frank, current, soul-mirroring talk between us, because only now I realize that you’re always with me. You’re here for me, not for them, since they ignore what we love each other like, tell me again, tell me again what concerns of mine exist.  I’m LISTENING.  I’m ready to listen, I don’t care to sit in the silence, the sepulchral silence of their unmade graves, of their egotistical manners, their selfish ways, morose, foreboding, what else to say.  I cannot, I dream of southern winds, of summer breezes, of sea, of dew, of open grassland, but these dance and waver like smoke, the scent of mirage, they manipulate and coerce the thoughts I breathe, and they leave me standing amidst drought and thunder, and I cannot but weep.  So much, I weep, that in those dire moments, in those transient slides of truth, as I drown in the sea of their anger, stench of vomit and lime, my burnished eyes may finally see the path, the evident stairway to you.  Today I climbed the steps, the flickering neon echelons burst, crackle, teeter, jump again, recreating flaming streams of pearly clouds beneath me, and I reached the top and you.

I see you now.  I feel a hurricane brewing, I am only thankful for you, my friend, my blood, my brother.  I can’t speak, and SPEECHLESS, defenseless against their vocal onslaught, their torches of sound that looms, that scorches, that I’m envenomed with.  I cannot counteract their overbearingly paternalistic condemnations, their claims that puncture my veins, and I drain of flame and courage, and I’m not able to raise my head without you.  Knowing you’re beside me, seeing you, the best thing that ever happened to me, because you always have the answer, you devil, you fiend, you ethereal, all-knowing violation of the laws of their universe, pay them a visit that they discover the powers they transgress when they harm me.  Shall we show more mercy onto them, though, for they know not what they do, because they never allowed me air to explain.  They will unravel us, you and me, for we will be one and united, and from our union we shall draw our might.  Is it necessary, all my suffering, for you to open clear the blackened vortex that spits you out and come to my assistance, I implore.  My legs tremble, tingle, teeter and toil, teeter and ask you how much more I must endure, for come the end of this, no longer will I listen to them, only to you.  I might lend them rusted ears like withered roses, closed and dried to their verb, to their puncturing lances, they pierce one’s mind, enter through the ears and travel down the mouth to butcher all, to fire a BLENDER of one’s inner flooded chambers, drowned in the sea of their anger.  I cannot stand.  You live with me, we fall to the floor, crying out loud, they’ve left us.  My throat chokes in the sea of their anger, my own anger, my own frustration and desperation and the molten cap they force me to swallow.  You stand before me, your face open, your heart revealed, and all is you.

I feel you close.  Cold like winter’s exhalation, breathing out vital vapors, you touch my arm and I ask you something but I don’t know why, because I like to hear your voice, your words, and they come alive like you did.  CELLOPHANE pastel bubbles that hover around me, and I glance, peruse them, masticate them, make them mine.  Suggestions to rid us of our hindrances, to sever the strings of our limitations, to become one with the blood of the universe (power), and follow me you say.

I’m one with you.  UNBELIEVABLE, how apparently related we are to each other, and how the same matter combines to form a more pure expression of our own free will.  I need your guidance.  You grant it, all is clear to me now.  They are still talking in the room next door.  The door shut, the lips reverberate and I can hear, but I shall not listen.  Their words, tempered, ironclad, hurt my soul? – our soul.  Stainless steel stealing my tranquility from me.  I find mine.  The kitchen sink, fraught with my backlash-words crystallized in metal, razor sharp.  Knock, knock, and I come into the bedroom, face still overflowed with salty pledges of retribution and retribution hiding eagerly in my palm.  Thank god for you.

I love you, I lie, and they buy it.  Their nauseating good nature, periodically, worn again.  The rest is your forceful influence over our mortal spheres.  They never expect you.  You weasel around them.  You sneer.  Calculated, surgical shining high against the light.  Oh my, and you maul and stab, you vicious tyrant of mineral hatred.  You prance around your MASTERPIECE.  You concede command to me.  I glance and gasp and fall, shivering.  When I wake up, soaked in the crimson sea of their peace, I smile inwardly.  I’ll blame it on you.

February 2003