Night

I cannot separate from my selfish wandering shadow
my crooked walk, remembrance,
nostalgia in my bones
though my light turns this and that way,
I merely pause to steady my feet
when I should be searching for you.
The fleeting ghost of your future
told in the subtleties of impossible night.
It clings at my heels, a lazy jester
mocking me, telling its truth in its way
despite my attempts to hide in thick black.
where has my mustang spirit fled to
whose echo reverberates down the halls of my veins?
whose recapture proves elusive,
a dream I meant to write down before too long passed?

she peddles her ware
far into the night.
her dark thoroughfare
(when her prices are right)
draws suitors who hunger
and thirst for her sweets,
when vendors should decently
snooze in their sheets.

her soursops are sweet,
her sweetsops are sour;
the grapes of her orchard
men quickly devour,
who mortgage good sense
to finance vain needs,
her cherry wine sating
naught of their fat greed.

red-ribbon parfums,
dark-chocolat delights,
the fruit of her looming
she dangles in sight
of pot-bellied men
enticed by her dance,
as down in the gutters
they vie for a chance

her basket to drain
of peaches and plums,
of pomegranates and
whatever might come
to please lips and tongues
that die for a taste
of bait on the tong yet
unknown to the chaste.

© Copyright 2019 August 15

 
Many nights used to last  
for twenty-four hours  
deep in the bowels  
of sadness and depression  
where thoughts of morbidity  
were worn like an overcoat  
Razors practice in darkness  
a cutting preamble before  
a serious suicidal attempt  
from plans written in blood  
time, place, method all there  
toxic thoughts are full frontal  
flashbacks are my reality  
the pain, the fear, even the smell  
are daily unwanted visitors  
that are impossible to avoid  
the physical pain is excruciating  
alcohol and morphine cocktail  
on the rocks with a slice of lime  
meds make minds malleable  
shattered glass, broken heart  
too many pieces to glue together  
morphine-induced head injury  
sleeping as head hits the desk  
I am truly alone in the night  
phone calls: None in, none out  
standing on the edge of a cliff  
too dark to see the black rocks  
I teeter, I wobble but don't jump  
I want to know what's coming next  
heaven, hell, the black page  
reincarnation past life progression  
there is no salvation  
there is no redeemer  
there can be no rescue  
from who you really are  
life is suffering  
only death awaits you  
you ponder way up yonder  
what the fuck are you waiting for?  
 
My guardian angel arrives at my shoulder  
she whispers "Everything will be alright."  
she whispers many things in my head  
she blunts all razors and sharp implements  
miraculously she glues my heart back together  
although many scars and cracks remain  
she brings with her a vision of the light  
she encourages me to taste the rainbow  
her final truth stifles my breath  
"Make enemies into friends, failing that  
walk away from those toxic demons"  
did not become a fan of human love  
Human love in my experience is toxic  
alcohol continues to be an enemy  
but that is really ok as I walk away  
I made friends with the pain  
using razors just for shaving  
thought of morbidity no longer a foe  
I made friends with the loneliness  
the isolation, even the depression  
but only when I made friends of the dark  
I could see and befriend the light  
My nights are not so long now  
I fill my hours with positive distractions  
no longer a deadbeat poet  
I am a becoming