The Masquerade

We all wear masks Hi, I'm fine At 20 paces Smile and nod You're doing fine They all think You're genuine We all wear masks So no one's prying Your trompe l'oeil It looks so real It works if they Can't see you crying And here's the deal: This thing ain't lying You can't be real And still survive No one gets out Of here alive Careful, dance The masquerade Bow and curtsy, Take your place Step into The self you've made Never let them See your face. (written 1/28/2015)

Darkness, my old frenemy

Darkness, my old frenemy, You've come to shadow-box with me: I shall not let you win today, I'll never let you win.
With the abyss you'll threaten me, Make all my senses dead to me, You will not wrest my faith from me Into your rictus grin.
Despair, for all you harry me Bully, harass, and sally me I'll never let you carry me To regions dark and grim
You tempt me with that last cravasse Where woes and troubles are all past I know it is an Auschwitz gas, And a poisoned web you spin.
You monstrous spider sucking light, You ghastly thing begetting fright, You servant of the things of night, I'll never let you win. (written 1/28/2015)

Ode to a Migraine

(from 1/26)

My brain is a barometer
Expanding like a balloon
Ow ow ow dammit
Stupid migraine

I don't need a brain-barometer
I have an app for that
Also an old-school barometer

My head's in a vise
You might surmise
It's no surprise
I hate it

Stupid migraine
Barometer balloon vise
In my brain
Make it stop dammit.

Hearts shouldn't stop before their time

Hearts shouldn't stop before their time;
They should work properly, and do what they're told.
Folks should wait to die, for when they're good and old;
To die beforetime breaks all sense and reason.  No,
They should wait, til they're long past their prime,
For the old-folks-in-rocking-chairs-season:
When the children are grown, and the grandchildren too;
When the balm for their survivors' tears, is
"Well, he was old and full of years."

He wasn't old and full of years.
My love was young, and sparkling full of life;  
And full of plans, and hopes, and dreams;
And one was to make me his wife.      
And now I am left with what's left,  
When your love, and your dreams, are both buried.  
I died with him also that day--don't you know?  
But it was him only they carried.

What I cannot get out of my head:
He isn't supposed to be dead.


written Wednesday, August 18, 2010, 4:46 pm, 5:00 pm 
revised Thursday, August 19, 2010, 4:02 am

The Long Sojourn

How do I get there?
To the place of unmisery    
To that place that isn't   
The worst of places to be-- 
How do I get there?
Does it exist anywhere?
Where's my directions?  
I'm tired; I'm tired of traveling blind,
Though it keeps the sandstorm
Out of my eyes-- 
Oh good Lord I'm tired
Whittled-down tired
I'm tired to the core of the core
I've had enough, and enough, and enough,
And I don't want to take anymore.
Can you hear my cries?
You did not warn,  
I was led to the desert to die
In panic, confusion, and sorrrow, and haste--
Oh, rescue me now from the trackless wastes
Lest I be food for vultures and jackals-- 
Did you lead me out of Egypt to perish here,
Without even a reason why?
O rescue me, O lead me out
With your pillar of fire and your pillar of cloud--
If truly me do you cherish
Then save me from hence, lest I perish.

written August 17, 2010, around 3 am

at 2:04 am

help me
I cannot stand it
I do not
know how I stand
nor do I
start to understand
oh God
I cannot--
How?
help me
help me
please
now...

There's an art to loss

written 6/8/2010

There's an art to loss
There's an art to saying goodbye
There's an art to
Breathe in breathe out
There's an art to asking why
And there's an art to not asking
There's an art, when the dance is all stilled,
To hold and release
Without stumbling
To roll as you fall
When the ground starts shaking
When the earth is quaking
There's an art to loss
There's an art
when your heart is breaking
There's an art
There's an art to breaking your heart.

But there is no art, when you're broken
When every word has been spoken
When the building has fallen, each brick on your head,
When reality stands thus: I live, and he's dead.