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Literature
Why I'm Wet
There's a strange feeling in the air tonight.
Something that has tagged along on the wind,
moving freely about,
completely unhindered by rational thought
or the opinions of the 5:00 weatherman.
A light mist drives down from above
or below, I really can't be sure
it just feels so right
the soft spray in my face,
on the back of my neck,
the tender places on arms and hands
that don't feel everything
like they should.
Maybe it's just me, the unsensible one
standing in the wet dusk
stretching my face to the steel sky
catching glimpses of the mist
drifting softly into my eyes.
They are staring at me.
I can feel it.
Glances at the wierd guy
standing there in the rain
getting soaked and "catching a cold",
mother's favorite fable.
The requisite debasement of unfamiliarity.
It's hard to project those feelings
of inadequacy and embarassment
that they expect from me
the idiot in the t-shirt and jeans
who forgot his umbrella
and stands in the rain
feeling the dark wet comfort
this blanket of mother
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Literature
Deja-vu
Collecting thoughts in buckets
drizzed dreams in barrels
stoppered and shelved
to age and fade beyond concious thought
reawakened in brief glimpses
tapped and poured
to toast a moment come a gone
then broken down and lost
or recycled into forgotten
might have beens.
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Literature
Keep Watching
Belligerent screams
tear through the glass,
like chalkboards
and broken fingernails
screeching, bleeding
into my mind.
Make it stop!
my silent cry
as if the force of my will
could reflect the horror
send it howling
with vengence and rage
back to feast upon its owner.
The pain lasts but a moment
and leaves me angry
and vandalized
my peace of mind
ripped away,
stolen and soiled
then returned incomplete
pieces missing,
shoddy workmanship
covered with a shiny new coat of ignorance.
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Literature
Feast of Midnight
You appear like a winter midnight
the moon's cold breath
reflecting on the snowy ground
a new world painted in silver and shadow.
Pale and perfect, you stumble down the runway
leaning on your imaginary courtiers
your aching features
frozen in a perfect pageant smile.
Breath of frost, you begin to speak
your crystal words
bounce from ear to ear
carving scenes of false gaiety in your wake.
Baring, discordant trumpets
signal your arrival at the table
seats fill quickly, hungry eyes
silently devouring the lavish feast.
The meal ends in silence
the final toast finishes the guests
you walk by, blessing each one
as you watch them fall.
You prowl the empty corridors
basking silently in the fading warmth
a ghostly beauty flowing softly
up the stairs, alone.
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faeth
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United States
Excuse me.

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