Thursday, June 24, 2010




I left your image of me shining

just where you wanted it

in that glass menagerie

of broken mirrors

you’ve hung from the ceilings

like chandeliers

like constellations of frozen tears

in the thirteenth house

of the misbegotten

on the wrong side of the tracks

off the beaten paths of the zodiacs

that sometimes like to go slumming down here

when the sun shines at midnight

and the moon’s out of town.

I left the light on

but this star is long gone

past these extremities of shining

into the abyss of an unseeable future

that disappears into its own illumination

like an eye into its own seeing

or a bad likeness of God

into a human being.

I leave you handcuffed to the dead

like the Standard Model of the Universe

that lost it all

like the physics of the Mad Hatter

to the singularity at the bottom of a blackhole.

I would have met you half way like anti-matter.

I would have found a way

to bend that negative space

that so often distorts your face

into a more comely illusion of time

that isn’t stitched together so clumsily

like some patchwork bride of Frankenstein

taking it out on the mirrors

that keep dodging your reflection

by turning their eyes to the wall

everytime you insist

you’re the most beautiful of all.

So be it.

You are.


You’re trying to impose

a habitable order on the universe

like the cube of the sphere of life

that would allow you to get by

like Tolstoy

who built a shoemaker’s hovel

in the middle of his aristocratic palace

to improve the commonality of his inferiors.

You’re like the Taj Mahal looking for a room to rent.

You’re a shore-hugger trying to teach

a jumper how to fall toward paradise

without a parachute.

And if I ignore your raging advice

as I do now and have done

it’s only because I play Russian roulette

with the lightning

and you come to the table with a cap-gun.

And I’m wholly at home

even immortally alone

in this compatible chaos

that improvises my life

sometimes as a dirty joke

I go along with for a lark

and other times

raises me up above

the web of my furthest horizons

like a spider that’s transcended clinging to anything

and dancing in my radiance

like a star that isn’t afraid of the dark:

listen to me bitch

I’m singing.