with a face of faint
Mona Lisa smiles
and a trail of fire descending my spine
i stand on the freeway overpass
invading other peoples lives.
evading my own.
i want to scream.
in cars i am often passenger
willfully accepting another's will
solely for the sake of a destination.
i wonder of my whimsies:
would i drive to mexico just for fun?
i think so.
i want to have a rogue anger burning in my chest
and i want to throw things at the wall
at mirrors, at the floor.
i want to make these noises
in this cluttered room, knick knacks piling
on shelves laden with dust.
my fear is of an afflicted sky
the infirmaries of my own doubt
staining the wounds on the impressionable
the open royal black spaces about
my clouds of lethargy.
i want to be alive,
with my breath ragged and raw,
rough and torn through these blackened hours
and whispered to the night.
i want my smile
to be complete and unconsciously honest.
this bleeding and burning, this red
passion and need is the effort i make
to breathe
to hold myself against my own insecurities
and come away unscathed.
my scars are deep and ancient,
and some are fading with days
passing from one to another;
24 hours older and stalled
in another luminous storm.
but inthis moment of a night transitioning to morning
i have no fear of flying,
no fear of sprouting wings
no trembling from the bottom of my knees
and i stand to this tall widowed loneliness
and speak.
and he says,
"be good."