i have become the burden
no one knows what to say
and i understand
no one knows how to react
because suddenly the statue is revealed
fragile as eggshell
vulnerable and absolutely mirage
i have let the multitudes suck me dry
and kept nothing for myself
because that is what priests do
because that is what friends do
the guru tells me the tornado is just karmic release
but i know
the spinal flush
was the plug ripped out
as my adamah exited
and i feel halved
like god’s first failed experiment
i reach—grope—try—
to find anything in the impending dark
amongst my strange comforting solace
with no one or no thing
touching back
no insulation against the repercussion
of your death my wounds our thousand secrets
and i mostly get met with disinterest
when i express my need
for supportive ears and sympathy
nothing more
and often a smooth shifting of subject
without so much as a condolence
and dare i admit right now
even this glacial creature
might need human touch above all else
an affirmation of life and continuance
i lose all sense of time or reality
as only the meaning remaining
slams into stark relief
like lightning in the night
in the ashes of our history
we tried to bury alive for sanity
i have been reduced to
a one-time-friend and probable tryst
when we were more, we were less
i wonder if you regret
leaving your goddess in rags and grime
if you know the woman who saw your soul
and never once attempted to own it
who emanated her essence in encompassing sunshine
has spent the years between
starving sleepless and alone
and unable to come to terms wth it
i don’t think it’s what you meant at all
when you granted me inexplicable freedom
we spent so much energy on our desecration
now after the gulf of silence
i am mostly informed
my recollection is fiction
that my grief is disproportionate
across the aching gap of time
because my original displacement is no longer fresh
when to me it is still just yesterday
i apologize for not still wearing it like skin
in plain view
for any and every one to press with knives and sticks
to see if it will bruise or bleed
i apologize for walking from the only witnesses
to the wealth of the monumental force
that was you that was me
and maybe when i speak
they are uncomfortable with the circumstances engulfing
or maybe they are just jealous
that i once possessed the impossible
and loved like mortals in myth
so they seek to cheapen the reciprocation
so they strive to rip it to shreds and name it fallacy
and spit on every sacred memory
or maybe it’s just too shocking
to see the ice queen emote
i keep waiting to wake from
this seven year bad dream
to embrace vanilla spring skies
crash one last time
through the waves
the surface of your grey-blue eyes
to feel one last time my arms encompassing
yours wrapping my body
shaking so hard with laughter
in such a way i cannot tell the difference
between your body and my own
no one wants to see
if i’m holding my head above water
because petty bullshit is more addictive
however for my absolute lack of attendance
misery has tripled my readership
so even if no one gives a shit
some strangers are at least savouring every morsel
and gorging on voyeuristic sadism and entertainment
about the gargoyle girl in sugarspun lingerie
ravaging her still splintered blistered heart
lifting skirts razors wine cigarettes
bits of glass and flakes of cranium
to get at the swollen meat beneath
i linger in this greyscale limbo
poking to see if this foggish perspective will lift
like some crippled corruption on the television
i am vaguely aware of my aquarium
and i discover i would like nothing less
than turning my limbs to fins
to trespass on the other side of this smudged film
somewhere beyond the trapping glass
no more taunting and teasing
no more fingerprints blocking my little goldfishy view
my body stops fighting gravity and begins to slide-glide
what lays beyond this dirty tank
will certainly bewilder me
i miss the thrill of discovery
i will trade in my frustration
and sorrow of a world fraught with idiocy
strike a new path to someplace i belong
uncertain as my eyes visualize now in
mathematical equations and microscopic magnification
it’s just a membrane between
i could rip through
stretch it
someone lift the glass
before i suffocate
just need a little fresh air
i’m sure i’ll flutter right back
to the safety of this killing jar
i promise i won’t wander too far
you are all so terrified to leave this place
and petrified to stay at all
you create fiction rather than touch the real thing
too spooked to get bloody to the hips
to get intoxicated by the horror and the bliss
you miss it
never even learning to shape it
i’ve lost my last attachment among the rubble
i no longer seek disenchantment or fantasy
i’ve glutted on it until it lost all flavour
truth is subjective
knowledge interpretive
and even munin’s memory is a touch faulty
and after blowing dust off these vaults
maybe i’d rather stake mnemosyne
straight through her slippery heart and burning brain
months like this i just want to loose this fleshly chain
raise my soot-stained wings and arc my way home
not out of depression but boredom
the hindu told me how to go home to adamah
to walk the fire in holy samedhi
immolation to burn clean
like a good consort
it’s illegal in this america i’m sure
but i know after working so hard to keep me breathing
it would spit on his soul to release myself
and i have not lost my curiosity
for what this mortal coil will drag me next
so i’ll wait
and pray my inspiration gets piqued
although i feel i’ve been cheated of a climax
by soaking in the best in the beginning
now it just seems like
i’m killing time until i am summoned to god’s accounting
and for some reason i always picture that
in dirty sackcloath and blue numbers
like a fresh new genocidal prison
except i sense i’m holding a bus ticket
like a golden lottery winner without stipulation or taxation
with my acquaintances oblivious or absent
i have only the gods left for company
and the SoulFather, i uncover
shrinks in the shadows
certain i will come at Him
with silver-garlic bullets and the blood of jesus
in his imagined wrath
i slice sliver by sliver into his immortal flesh
until even the Gatekeeper divulges every answer
and Mystery herself falls to ruin
i laugh dryly
my hands dangling by my cracked boots
no Father your Headsman exorcist understands
too much too much
much more than most of the rest
and i crave Home not the Throne
because i am quite broken now
no Father i never yearned for power
just a freedom that is probably overrated
our dusty ancestors—yours and mine—taught their children
that the Master of the Universe
manipulated the Word
to construct anything possible
to make anything viable
to exhale a perfection we are too limited to apprehend
the imagination dream of Himself fragmented
to know Himself completely in reflection and interaction
that He is breath He is language He is emotion He is thought
that the Master of the Universe
split the center of human to spine
into man and woman
and we seek our adam to our hava
into adamah
all our lives
and when we look into the mirror of ourselves
we can find only god
and after we can only ascend or transcend
most mortals take lifetimes to uncover
each other
to recognize themselves in another
and press internal soul-sweet individual shekinah
into external omniscent omnipresent adonai in all things
after so young bleeding into one another
never needing touch
because of the blinding currrency between us
what have i left when you’re gone
for this is no natural longing
for a beloved fellow human being
who has merely shifted to move on
but the tonguing of a toothless gap
something i identified
never as mine, always as my Self
i shudder
useless as a newly waking quadruple amputee
wondering how i will recover
and if it is possible to care for myself in this state
you have left me incomplete
it will take the rest of my lifetime
to get used to it
recounting how our time fell far too brief
i am submerged in the sensation
having lost all fear of life death or time
no cares anymore of if i complete my tasks
what i am destined to do will be done
no more no less
and when the Invisible One chooses at last
to touch my shoulder gently
and whisper smiling come
i will go willingly
and weave at last for you in person
the saga i’ve spun in your long absence
©️ 2007
Originally posted on my DeviantArt
Mischa Fox 