What is this thing that keeps me bound to place and time,
to earth, air, fire and water?
What is this flesh that aches and loves?
My body sacred?
A Goddess vessel?
Even after a breeze swept through,
shoving out old rubbish...
well, it seems,
the monsters have more room to move now.
They gnaw at my small confidence, screaming,
"NOT GOOD ENOUGH!
INADEQUATE!
TOO BIG!
TOO SMALL!
WORTHLESS!"
Where is my temple?
This place just feels like a rotting sunken ship,
most of the time.
The sweet voices of Truth tell me that
I've got two moons and a chalice;
tools for creative revery,
but I keep forgetting where I put them.
Why don't I kick them out...
the monsters who keep squashing my silence?
What am I getting out of these common house guests?
What strokes of genius do they offer me after their relentless abuse?
Perhaps they're angry because I've caged them and left them to starve.
Perhaps that's why they're voraciously gnawing at my sacred blood,
my body beyond beauty,
my heart's spiraling light.
Next week I bleed them out,
I birth my parasites and
set them free.
to earth, air, fire and water?
What is this flesh that aches and loves?
My body sacred?
A Goddess vessel?
Even after a breeze swept through,
shoving out old rubbish...
well, it seems,
the monsters have more room to move now.
They gnaw at my small confidence, screaming,
"NOT GOOD ENOUGH!
INADEQUATE!
TOO BIG!
TOO SMALL!
WORTHLESS!"
Where is my temple?
This place just feels like a rotting sunken ship,
most of the time.
The sweet voices of Truth tell me that
I've got two moons and a chalice;
tools for creative revery,
but I keep forgetting where I put them.
Why don't I kick them out...
the monsters who keep squashing my silence?
What am I getting out of these common house guests?
What strokes of genius do they offer me after their relentless abuse?
Perhaps they're angry because I've caged them and left them to starve.
Perhaps that's why they're voraciously gnawing at my sacred blood,
my body beyond beauty,
my heart's spiraling light.
Next week I bleed them out,
I birth my parasites and
set them free.
1 comment:
When yearning is held captive by the imperative practical necessity of this smothering historical debris blown forward on the winds of holocaust, the rancorous wings of Heaven taunt the fleshlings of Hell. The superego bullies the ego-ideal in the proprioceptive cineplex, and the Spectacle vampirizes the inadequacy to make another gruesome commercialist escapade etched into the plundered visage of duration...
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