Rain - Wind

 

Rain

My heart was hung out in the rain

Pull it in!  I cried.  Pull it in!

It vanished like frost on a window pane

Too late, too late, simply too late

Too long in the rain! I cried

It melted like frosting on a cake

Wind

The wind blows harsh currents across the seas, oceans turn, twist, rise, move to the swell of surface white caps, secretly placing shiny crystals upon these lips, as they tell you their secrets. Are you listening to the wind, is your ear close by?

Do you taste the savory, do you feel the bite upon your skin, all the while wind batters your side, telling you, whispering to you, saying to you, don’t cry?

“You don’t have to understand”, it speaks in a low, tremulous voice. 

“She doesn’t know how to die”

the voice is heard over the wind, in a sigh

“I’m here to make it clear “

the wind murmurs in her ear

Deception

I see a shadowed outline of a face by the window, a small lamp in the background throws a back-light, making it difficult to know just who this person is, and my eyes begin to deceive me even more than before, when the ripple of the old hand-blown glass pulses distortions...

The figure moves, weaving objects in the room, from here to there, what do you see....where....through the view of the old glass in the window...? 

Are these the secrets hidden within, from behind, from without, and when you see in, and then out, do you feel the bile--is it vitriol, is it real, this picture framed with guile?

A Journal of Indulgence

 

A stranger no more

I pulled an all-nighter, indulging myself in thought.  Nights are the best, when eyes are closed, looking inside of dark halls, and having the ability to light up a room..  Skirting around a complicated issue doesn’t exist in these lighted rooms.  It all becomes reality. 

It can be shocking to see what I indulge myself in; in these written words on the walls that I see, and manipulate into forms - I see myself, but can that self only live in our minds until these words are spoken, allowing them to become real, seen as truth to a world in which we live?

I write words to satisfy my thirst; I drink the reactions these words have on others. I’m probably no different than these vampires everyone seems to be so obsessed with, and as I play in the oceans of my mind, I also swim in everyone else’s, driving myself to finding out who that self really is.

Obsessed is what I am, with a short circuit in these connections to all feelings which are thrown into pieces of my self.  I have to express these obsessive words in some form, art preferably, before that connection can be welded together.

Every single word I write, feelings become a light switch to illuminate that dark room inside of my head. The more indulgence, the more obsessed – Has it become over-indulgence?  Is it a progression of eating everyone’s words, until I’ve become so bloated; making me look at each word with feelings so intimate it hurts?  Is it necessary for me?  The word feelings, as I say I feel this way or that way, is just a word until you identify its depth, attaching a form and space to it.  I indulge myself until it becomes painful.

What is it to feel this kind of pain, and if I say I hurt, does this pain mean something different to someone else?  The word obsession is a strong word, and what are the reactions of people who hear it?  When I light up a room for all to see, does it become a room for all to understand, and are you able to explore this room from within, which contains those feelings?

Yes, I am an indulger. I test feelings as much as I can when writing about them.  I’ve shown them; I’ve gorged and bloated myself until I’ve exposed them all, whether ugly, or beautiful, until I have to throw them up for everyone to experience.

The rooms are lit.  I feel satiated knowing a stranger out there is no more.  Is that stranger you, or is it me?

The Kiss

 

The train tracks shimmer in the afternoon sun, stretching long lengths of steel into the distance of the sun scorched day. 

I listen, I wait, I sway.

One o’clock, one-fifteen, one-thirty, it's a lifetime.  You will be here, I know.  I will not cry. 

You’re due at one-forty five. 

From this barren earth, eyes cover in mist.  I listen, as my heart pounds a beat.

I watch vibrating waves of heat.

Is it the sun reflecting the wet of my eyes? Then a glimmer, a glisten, something moves towards me.

I cannot see.

The gate starts its downward motion, the bell rings its toll, and I wait to hear the rumble as it nears.

I feel my fears

seeing through my tears

too many years

Wait!

I step onto the tracks

we kiss our fate

The Hand

photograph by Kathleen Shattuck

The hand reaches out; fingertips touch the uneven plaster on the wall beside the bed; the moon seeps through the curtained glass, casting ominous gloom upon this hand. Stare at this hand, it belongs to a stranger. 

Who is this stranger that lives in this room tonight? 

The shadow of the moon feels cold against the warmth of this hand.  Does this hand belong to this arm that holds it upright, straight, and away, flat against the undulating prickle of sharp edges on the wall?

The hand turns, slowly, palm facing towards this stranger, fingers curling, nails biting into the palm, which seems to be saying, do not touch me - then stretches out until each tip extends and spreads from inside, into a breadth of vulnerability it opens the width of the fingers; opens, opens wide, wider it stretches until pain sears into the sinewy muscle, as sharp teeth may gnaw into a bone. 

Come, soon, look at this hand; watch as it beckons, watch as it moves, before it moves toward the cold shadow of the moon.

How Can I Say Goodbye

when I still see you sitting there, when I still feel you lean into me, when I still absorb the light from your eyes, how can I say goodbye---

when I can touch the shine of your hair, hear your breath in my ear, see the impression you’ve left in the chair, how can I say goodbye----

when I still smell your sent floating near, when your love has become my whole, when your shadow moves away to fly, how can I say goodbye?

We were two as one

you lied

now we are two

you are gone

I am

one

I

died

goodbye