Terror-Firma

Grizzled cheek in hand
Eyes caught between a gaze and fixation
Analysis floating just above fear's cold fingers
I see you.

One became two by four
Lumbered bread of relationship
Building material that could be held
*and* checked for faults

Wood cannot build itself
So I step back

I can stack and add
But the cutting is beyond me.

Still, I try

With the grain;
Against the vein

My sap hot and dripping
Congealing into flumes and parapets
That naked feet crush
and are cut by

Blood and sap and sawdust
Hardened resined mosaic that I pick up
And fashion into a broach for the three of you

Wondering if it will light up with your heart;
Or ice over with rejection
or, worst of wall-
Sit unchanged

I sit cross legged and try to connect

with terror-firma.

Our Little Corner of the Kosmos

Curtain's pulled round

But the light bleeds out through the thin spots
Savage primal angst
Wearing bedclothes, looking for an audience

But the audience is one:
It's you, your capacity open and yes,
Ministrating to _my_ needs tonite

So I can go back, not take it so seriously again
And stir up the color you so like
In our little corner
of the Kosmos.

Yup, sad

Open bag by the check in desk, but not sure she'll want to go into it. Hell, I don't want to go into it and it's MINE. Layer upon layer of black plaque; white around the edges; a necrotic lasagna I scraped together from residue I've been aging in the wild id-spaces like an obsessed oenophile all this years.

I've had a peak before, guessed it was time for another tonite, but it was more like it chose me as opposed to the other way around. I peeled it back, layer by rotting layer, laying them carefully around the bag and looking up for quick eye contact, wondering if she was going to call security. She gave me the look you know. You know, the LOOK. You have a few minutes, but a very few. Better make the right decision.

And I was ready to, thing is, when I got to the final layer, it was terrible beauty.

That's always the way isn't it. Easier to say goodbye and pack this fucker with all it's slimy siblings and inbred cousins together and ship it off somewhere. But that's if it was even a little bit worse than the pasta I've pulled off. Thing is, it's a little beating heart, shimmering in a perfect square of shimmering plasma and highwayed artery lines. And not little in terms of it's an infant heart, no, the littleness is just part of the gelled metaphor, kids. It's a little part of me.

Beating excitedly now, it knows it has my attention. It wants to be fed and nurtured. And I could do that, almost decided to do that, when I heard her shuffling o'er me. Shit, she's brought company too. Both of them have looks of warning on their face ~ you've got a toxic emotional pyschological topspill their waiting to happen cowboy. You're either going to contaminate us or give the little guy (that means you too) a heart attack. Make your call.

And so I do, piling on the rotten blankets on top of it again, knowing that it's the right thing to do but...

As I put it on the conveyor belt, consciously, without a tag or a return address, I feel the desire, the clinging, the sadness and utter aloneness creep up and lodge in my throat.

It descends through the plastic teeth out of site, and I could swear that I hear the little heart break a little bit. Or maybe it's growing, hard to tell.

For now all that's certain is that it's contained and on its way somewhere.

I'm back to one attendant now. She points up to a departure arrival sign, simple message there for me:

Good Night Chuck

Good Night Chuck

Sharp black eyes, quick hands
Taut spring
Fueled.

Instinct drawn into your fingers, voice, and loins
Currented through me
Shes;
Us.

Electric black center
Bolt of colour; careless focus - or a zen cut
Tears - or laughter

Rainbow splayed tannery
Many costumes cut through the years
Until
No color left
Fabric tattered and diffused into emptiness

May you rest now,

Peace

Choking on this

Sadness, a bird
Caught in the throat and struggling for release
Then crushed in sallow passion

No heart here, just the offspring
Moving towards the cavity that should embrace
Proffer, dance and heal

No stomach here, just a slow descent
Without detachment
Malignancy, waiting in disbelief for the dawn