Either, other, or, no not me.
I am sentenced here to pleasing demons,
rising fire-winged from the depths of my ill remorseful soul,
bleeding my heart into submission,
taking no care in banishing my identity into the abyss of that dark sea I over flew many decades ago.
The wide sea tears away at the flesh of my being as crashing waves crash endlessly about for my self-lost identity.
By the light of improbability
The other stakes the claim of passion in verse as stakes pluck his eyes.
Seeing by not seeing, as now truly has light shone his way and all things clear,
a vision of what's to come. Let me be blind to this world and hence traverse
the endless wild of being.
For when my others falter,
I sit sipping my muddied drink and swirl the smoke taken in and taken out.
By lit darkness my eyes swell a tear or two, one from the smoke that infests my lungs
and the other for the days that should have come.
The studio creaks out its asbestos skin as it lay silent.
No strokes brush the coarse canvas with their customary passionate hues.
No voices break with laughter the silence that becomes my days ever more.
The doors must close a final time and I sit longing for the days that should have come.
