Frozen

I can feel the ice beneath my feet. This mountain peak tastes like the first time I ever had Christmas dinner with someone else’s family. Heels slip and my toe sinks into a frosty puddle of regret that sets me shivering.

Getting weak at the knees. 

Who knew freedom from you meant loneliness with me. 

I scream from between the falling trees of Mount Everest’s seams and I know it made a sound… there’s just nobody around to tell me what it means. I’m like the smartest person in the world- all out of degrees- but it is the two who are better than one, for when they lie down, they have heat.

Where do I climb to next, when jumping would be my greatest delight? Or maybe not. Beneath this thermal underwear is a suit of armor I built from lightning… protecting the deepest scar I ever got of being abandoned by someone I always thought would be right beside me.

I’ve been squinting into the wind chill, Jesus swag, for so long, I can’t always tell when my hallucinations are generating mirage anymore.

Are you real?

Are you just like me?

Or are you too much like me.

The rain becomes my company and the sleet my faithful lover. They never speak. They never understand a word I say. Flicks of crystallized isolation discarded from the sky coat the gnarled speed bumps along my tongue… entomb rivers of affection in glaciers at the back of my throat…

I have a friend who once told me that I’m a hopeless romantic-

Which isn’t romantic at all.

Just hopeless.

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River’s Choice

The river used to flow for me.

Tired and worn down, lips cracked with the merciless blood leaks of ambition… the dry riverbed would flow for me. Would grace me with the refreshing honor of parching my thirst and revitalizing my skin.

My invitation was open ended like the fat man’s appetite, never rescinded like glory in the afterlife, I would often make my way there after night. Hidden in shadow but spied by the discretion governed pale eye of the moon. Under cover of light and darkness I would whisper the gray of my heart out and the river would flow for me. Into my mouth, over my brain, through my eyes, across my back…

I was never ashamed to be broken because I knew the river’s affection for me began in eternity and continued on into forever.

Very often it was the weight of identity in my mind which drove me to my knees in defeat… needing the coolness of the river, but forcing myself to endure the heat. Desert sand began to define me like a dictionary written in braille with seashells in hand. I couldn’t see well enough to stand. Burden bigger than the sea whale Hancock threw off the land.

I collapsed at the river for healing again…

But that day my awareness of my neediness and spoiled gain played against me…

The river doesn’t flow for me anymore.

Chance Encounter

My mind is a maze of brainless cutaways.

Alternative alleyways of alleviating allocations. Always allowing a little leeway out of the situation. Alluringly elusive, what chance had I until now.

Touchdown.

I caught your eye in the middle of a thick crowd. You co-signed my hand sign and before we could question the equal sign, there we were making math. Adam and Eve wrapped in an animate dance while the animals watched in a trance.

Suddenly our breathing became saiyan vapors on a cloudy night. Backed by black, there rebelled the misty whisps of white. Taking a step back, shoulders still in class forming right angles like parallelograms, the question hung between us.

One step further and math wouldn’t be the only problem. One full explosion and there’d be no one left to solve it.

Beams glare, shining off of a reflective mirror. It seems there is air that’s clean here. Twenty thousand feet above Asgardian sea level. Flying high like a mountain soaring on the back of Aslan’s racing stripes, primate delight, I’m going ape with hype, this has been a close encounter of the strange kind, lowkey.

And now we’re back in line at the diner.

I open my mouth to place my order, then I smile at her. Her eyes twinkle with a knowing gleam. My hand shoves deep into my pocket, burying my phone in a grave of deadened ambition.

We’ve been down this road before.
Almost didn’t survive.
It’s a violation to receive a second chance twice.

We nodded slowly at each other.

I made my way to my table.

She rang many customers and I ate a lot of food. After the fifth refill of my drink I was like that one aunt we all have… bursting at the seams. I paid and tipped my cap to the fair lady. She smiled the fantasy I would never live. Some stories just aren’t meant to be told or revisited.

With the air of the President, I whooshed through the door without looking back.

And never…
Saw her…
Again.

###

The Dark One

This is what I do.

Drawn ever unto the light, but retaining my picture of imperfection. I can’t be framed, because I actually did it. I can’t condemn the world, because I’ve been cursed by spirit. The luxury of lackluster living spoils me…

I am the Shadow Man.

Sometimes I forget.

Sometimes hope sneaks up on me. Dreams sneak up in me. The sun blazes and I think its holy light can finally be the remedy.

…. but who is there to conquer when I am my only enemy. Enmity inwardly ending things instinct free… injury prone and found guilty.

I am the Shadow Man.

I can’t keep track of all the wrong things I’ve done. Can’t cling to redemption long enough to hold on. My heart freezes up and my fingers break. I am not Tris, not made dauntless, I am the loch ness forever locked inside his cage.

I am the Shadow Man. The Magic Terror. The Demon Dressed in Light. The Evil One. The Unholy Son. The Mare Rider of the Night. I quit everything except the darkness I dabble in, because when a man has nothing, he needs power and I’m too afraid to be powerless out in the sun.

I am the Shadow Man.

The unsolicited villain sullying and polluting the brook your story flows in.

No liberty bell can save me.

For I…

Am Rumpelstiltskin.

Insomnia

Parallax.

Paralytic vision converter verging on the edge of mended delusion. A rose softly dropping it’s three petals like a roll of silent thunder, because you lacked the  vantage to see the lingering fourth.

Passive aggressive in its active nature, every tree refuses to violate the horizon. Dawn rebels, tired of the earth’s cyclical self, shelving the responsibilities of time management and begrudgingly nudging forever off into eternity.

It’s a cosmic rip, like the moon harpooning your mama’s ceiling and doing lunar things to her while you are sleeping, it makes me sick.

The night sky is the eternal Judas.
The march of time is the wisest clueless.

And my contrite mind stays awake to tune in.