nietzsche

Incendiary Bubble Pop and Eye

There is no other here
by my side
or in my arms
and so I wait
lightly weakened
and slightly blank
the thieves
at my back
burning and coddling
my bones
and my blood
trying to steal
bits of hair
and teeth

but I stay whole
and reinforced
I stay here
weakened
but alive
and
waiting
waiting
waiting

patient as a cactus
or
sharp and sweet
as sage
I wait here
for the one
I wait for
to come home
and tie me up
in feather and fowl
blanket and moss
grey and acorn.

they may have my eyes
stealing glances
I waiver at my feet
and they may have
the outside of
this little birdcage
to look at
but they can not
see the monster cawing
within

needing as young
to old
a place to settle her mind in
a hearth
to warm the hands
and a heart
to fill the mouth

this may be a second story
a rapunzel or a sallow prize
but it has elements
of mirth
and drops of newspaper
mixed
chai
and eggplant.

never once or again
has this been a
chance or a match
stricken and eaten
in the belly of the cave
nor has it been a signal
or a deity that crawls
across the carpet
to accept my praise
or stroke.

always it has been
you
this conundrum
filling sparrow lungs
with scales and
tea and blue crayons
and rice paper and
lettering the package
bomb breaking action
and delivering
as if regal
and with trumpet hand.

no, this chair
holds but I
canary and cat
one life and one
grace
devouring smoke
and watching whiskers
tremble a
smile
as the lights flash
and the cartons of milk
blink
by the door.

I see the thieves now
and the way they move
crocodile and panther
as one
trying to compose
a symphony
to lure and tease
dirty demons and
harpie hands
wet and dripping
as they inch and squirm
closer to
the apex of
this beak
and that wing.

but they are goose liver
and pollywog
and couldnt fulfill
the needs of this bleeding
palm or foot
nor could they spell
it out before the eyes of Ra
and attempt transfiguration
to mutant and morbid
and buy their way
into
this system.

so lakeside
I will wait
and watch over my shoulder
for one day
to come and
be this day
and remove
all other days
from the green memory
of pale trees
and ghosts
that never made sense
but hurt
and shivered
in the midst
of the night.


... .