poetry
self-denied resident high stenciled on bars
beyond
hearing inaudible frequency canary singing
silent
death creeping through the mind solitary
confined
Abuse,
abandonment, rejection, separation, divorce, disappeared, flung from
helicopters over seas night and day by Authority or beloved is death:
figurative, narrative, virtual, actual imagined, inferred,
experienced.
Grieved,
long long long time, immeasurable; endless. Vacancy of esteem--sucked
hollow; machine gunned: run like hell—randomly from above.
Convicted.
Apprehended (in both senses) executed, assassinated, buried
alive in quicksand. Authority taken in laughter standing upon one's
head. Stepping stones self-righteous.
Astonished!
Never
did I imagine, cannot comprehend, anticipate/associate: Rebound with
being just another predator/scavenger circling, or instead, being a
life ring, sanctuary formed of floating upon the sea an island
detritus--things cast off as waste. Clung to or terrorizing . . .
either way is not OKAY.
Yet.
My
spirit arises resurrected from the ashes of self-immolation—singing my thesis: Jesus' resurrection began at his
feet dripping on the cross; contagious. A virus spread wide—making
each of us, in turn, we all, capable of, in part, if not whole,
becoming a light of any luminance in life.
I
so love, I will take anything given, knowing, finally, the
acknowledgment--proving I exist, as love from the other. The always
beloved Thou.
"Take
your life in your own hands, and what happens? A terrible thing: no
one to blame." - Erica Jong
14:31
Looking
backward, at first discovery and inwardly, I reacted: squat jumping
into the ceiling, angling towards the corners, the door and one
window of my office bedroom; crashing in to every surface attempting
to understand our mutual pain.
Defying
gravity residing suspended on the Middle Way, I think myself too much
at times: pretentious and pontifical. Actually fraudulent. Worse:
inadequate.
No
milk and cookies but gorging on invisible Oreos. At least I am still
able to make myself laugh with a keyboard.
"A
word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it
from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket." -
Charles Péguy
“These,
then, are my last words to you: Be not afraid of life. Believe that
life is worth living, and your belief will help create that fact.”
- William James
“And
now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen
again.” e. e. cummings
130502
09:32 MDT barefoot loose dancing on shackles
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
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