Room full of sharp mirrors
Thoughts bounce around in
Perpendicular slopes of contrast
One day you’re a hero, blasting misery
The next  a pathetic, strange avatar

Fuming, simmering in a broth
Yellow, black, bruising blue
I’ve sung my song with people
Twisted crazy in their webs of shame
Months on end of pulled strings
You’re everything we want to change”

When the mountain air was clean
I was hung up like washing out to dry
Worlds of words like flaming garlands
A conflagration of flashing memories
“You’re cheaper than a cheap, cheap perfume
Worn on darkly turning corner streets”

Curled, burnt, left bone dry
When the noises grew loud, I was held
By a dusty, ignored ceramic floor
Alone, while all the floors below creaked
With the sounds of bare or padded feet
“Turn over like a roasted chicken leg”

Swings, skyline, twinkling stars
Distant music. Strangers dreams hatched out of eggs
And took flights of fame. My claim
Limped to the finish line some how
Cowardly shrunk inside your hidey-hole, you.”

Poured soaring highs and burning lows
Into the laps of people  barely known
Comments caught like pearls in oyster
“Now I minutely see every one of your flaws”
In this culture of back-breaking, jerking calls
I’ve been growing my own gossamer wings.

I write because I have to let things out, but it’s not just for myself. There’s darkness everywhere. It descends slowly or grips you forever. You can’t always fight it but you can learn to live with it. We all do. Some toss word-paintings out into the universe.


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