My words
want a place
up high, where they
can fly in on pieces of sky,
and settle into story.
My words
want a place
where the stripe of the highway
guides them here and away.
My words
want to sit in
molten sunbeams
simmering as ideas, waiting
to bubble into book life.
My words,
wish the window wasn’t
so far away, and the world
outside did not beckon
with so many responsibilities.
My words
want a place
where time stops,
where only they and I exist
and together, we mold worlds.
There
in the span
across the back
your agony rests.
There
in the flesh
of your arms
your pain sits.
There
in the curve
of your neck
your anger abides.
There
in the well
of your heart
your recovery dreams.
I feel the vibration
reverberating down my back
drilling between shoulder blades
pushing at my temples.
Simple questions
snarky answers.
Simple expectations
superior refusals.
Patience is very thin
The end of the rope has frayed
Consequences?
Here’s a tent.
and a sleeping bag,
if you’d prefer?
The massage will work
out the kinks,
settle the tension,
return balance,
but when I’m back,
you’ll still be here,
sending out those vibrations
that are breaking down
my nervous system.
As they approach
your relaxed droop stiffens
your body tightens
each cell constricting.
You’re too old for
oppositional defiance
yet you shiver with it.
“Myself!” I hear your
two year old self echoing
through the decades. “No!”
But look,
this is a time of change,
and nothing changes without effort.
You have experts at your fingertips
and you refuse support and aid
because
Why, exactly?
You were so ready to fly,
and you’ve gone so far,
but now you’re quivering beneath the nest
while the parents flap about squawking
about winter migration,
and that cat on the porch.
You heedlessly tuck you head
beneath your wing
to nap.
I’m diving,
slicing water,
breathless,
drowning.
I’m racing,
building speed,
breathless,
crashing.
I’m going,
aiming high
breathless,
exploding.
.
.
This sounds like something terrible is unfolding, but all is well, just having a busy, breathless kind of day! 🙂
They cluster about
like vampires,
smiling sycophants,
their eyes glowing
with delight,
basking in your presence.
Their good intentions
would suck you dry,
if you gave them half
a chance.
.
You smile,
all charm and pleasantries,
while internally, you mock
their saccharin sweetness
and puerile pandering.
You accept their homage,
nod nobly
and never let it seep
into your psyche.
They cluster about
like vampires,
smiling sycophants,
their eyes glowing
with delight,
basking in your presence.
Their good intentions
would suck you dry,
if you gave them half
a chance.
.
.
File under: Things I Learn from Watching the Greats in Action
His scowl bounces off the walls
and she knows what kind of bounce he needs
but their inconvenient visitor
incites invible depression
so there is no undressing
for decompressing
As Ben Franklin would say,
“Fish and visitors stink
after three days.”
Today
Your Snow White beauty
Is cut with a sharp edge of
Street smarts.
You’ve seen
Too much.
Tomorrow
Will the visions
Scar your face with darkness,
Cigarette creases
And add black anger to your eyes,
Aging you with
Exponential bitterness?
Or will your words
Poured out upon a page
Erase the stresses
And sculpt your beauty
Into timelessness?
Shawn L. Bird 