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about time
this one's for ole lux
the warlock
perched somewhere near the 75th parallel
cloaked in bucolic robes
invisible to those
unaware of the strength
of the
staff in hand.
january: except the doorway
is firmly bolted shut,
the locks are impenetrable
the inception of a colony
looms, but even soothsayers
know better than to flap
their tongues. they say a genius
is always ahead of his time
but genius is not so much
a stroke of the pen
or of the brush
or of the key
but simply the ability
to reach inside another's guts
jiggle 'em around a bit
& leave 'em feeling
perhaps only slightly better
but better nonetheless.
50 minutes from the city
living in a 100 year old
run down house
i still feel cosmopolitan
and empty, picking callouses
off my fingertips
so i can pluck my bass harder
until blood gushes, epiphany
of existence, words floating
through the air, into your cochlea
transient, ineffectual, meaningless;
words incising your irises, sharp,
profound, infinite.
a fire
from the peels of digested fruit
a cyclone
from the exhalation of defeatism
a drought
from the trillions of tears
you're too tired
& proud
to relinquish.
even when these walls
morph into inferno
i am shivering.
i am comfortable.
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