“i feel the wind
the wind
it touches me with a cold cold creeping dampness
it feels like i've just left the shower
but in fact I'm heading right into one
it's the rain
i look at the sky
it's not blue
not green
not grey
but something else
it's something you can't duplicate in a photo or a painting.
it's just the rain
it's the clouds
and the rain
and night sky with the city
it's the rain
i feel the first drips on my face
it's the rain
it is the rain that will come
it is the rain that is coming
it is the rain that is here for me
behind the tree and wrap and bow in the light and in shadow i know the devil in december
no chimney does he creep down late he sits in front and starts awake i know the devil in december
grins and screams he knows the way no jolly laugh no fucking sleigh an abomination with anger deep lies and secrets come to reap generations of traditional sin an abomination beneath skin in the basement below the rooms i know the devil in december
it is important to see the beauty that is not there the glory that never was and never will be the things of light and mind and hope more real than reality the heaven that isn't the peace that cannot come this place we inhabit is not a tranquil place it cannot be made so
it is important to remember what is not never was and never will be because
if we do
perhaps
what is not never was and never will be will remember us
more and more i find that years are short and months are long a few weeks ago so far remote a distant time in a distant life but a decade past only just yesterday i expect to see those faces around the corner even those which have turned to dust
in cambridge centuries ago general washington gathered his troops he chose an elm standing old and wise under which he rallied his troops to take back boston town in cambridge common that elm still stands and if you asked it might explain that years are short and months are long
barefoot in a tattered dress i go with tearstained face i walk and walk and walk some more i keep moving still i do not mind my feet streetsore near worn to blood one more step, there may be gore and thinking the sidewalk should soon be red i see it purple now instead ...how odd ...how strange a purple sidewalk — a bit deranged who has painted this here and now my feet fresh paint i fear where might the culprit be? i look up above me the tree mulberries! ripe, just waiting for me the lady of tree say take as i might please and so i do barefoot in a tattered dress i return with berrystained hand
i am still picking up the bread crumbs left long ago haunted forest and horrors of the dungeons dark the way was planned my return to frankenstein i am still picking up the bread crumbs left long ago a dream which is not a dream a fairy tale which fairies do not tell they do not know the monsters in the candy walls are drunk with lies
stumbling through the lost days moving between sleep and wake never finding either i hope again to taste the universe to find that brief flash against the darkness
the pains deepen and my thoughts again knot in loops the threads of the world are frayed the needle cannot be strung i feel the nothings touching me my breath lost to the empty decades
the demon in the mirror repeats her message "no one is coming to help you no one can save you their world is not your world forget the distractions and go where you must go"
dreams lived in my daylight white-winged bubble-bug færies drifted up in a slight breeze i drew in on my chocolate cigar they danced in the grey smoke and then they were gone
across the seasons the leaves have piled heavy for the long dark so predictable as to seem inevitable but i still remember i almost caught the vision and then they were gone
i follow the demon path ration and reason has no place in my stories ghosts sing contradictions the barbs of their words pulling on my neck i wander in search of what cannot be until luna abandons me to dawn the daylight facade is a distraction and i see past it now in spite of the shine of lies the fallen gather in the passageways under the city i believe the songs and my queen still drives the trains i look in her windows as she pulls into the station the evil i see is my reflection
the dumpsters say "do not occupy" but galena lived there i brought her in from the toothy winds but soon they claimed her children and came for her soon after
the cold brings me here i've walked the streets and seen the dark hope i hear them cry from decades past their pain i cannot stop
the hours have gone the winds have stilled the birds have silenced the wars have ended the mountains have crumbled and the cities have turned to dust the earth rocks gently and melts away fading ember drops fall to the breathless sky
faraway on another world in the still air of a greygreen twilight a child weeps
pains stab us from the times past boiling eyes with brittle tears those days i thought would always last seasons are lost throughout the years and she, always there to adore left are crumbs, there is no more
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calm
exhausted
artistic