fires of Thursday
Here I am at bay, turning in an ever tighter space,
unwilling to believe that I am hemmed in by my own
intentions.
There is no enemy left but still the wars are fought
or thought in practice or theory. This is a game
played by my lover's lovers.
Even in the solace of the mystic there is no peace.
Was there a belief without word
in the match where I was the pawn?
My hate rips through me
and leaves me a shelless husk. I finally weep
but the years are empty and without shelter.
The tears shatter on the ground like bones.
I am heir to a past I will never claim.
I am blurred and unresolved as a child.
I mind my silence and become a guardian
over the wreckage of hopes
mangled by exposure to something real.
The shattering of the silence led a dream in spirals.
Sick of the dizziness, I step forward
and offer myself to their claws.
1994