Sunday, December 7, 2008

For Michael

It's a nightly ritual
trespassing in a forbidden territory
the moon slick waterfall, the wind.
The cold disinterest.
Six months of struggle
with this nicotine sickness.
And the charming magician’s tricks
invisible perhaps, but not quite magic-less.

A luxury vehicle and a fighting tree
and a brother -
who is just like me.
The same disinterest.
The same weakness.
Rip down that scaffolding.
Relax into those agonies
and they become a part of the scenery.

Where incarcerated words slide
free of printed prisons
like brilliant butterflies erupting
from our visions
they are mercilessly hunted
and swatted and trampled
into dusty particles.

Except one brave escapee, who
found the moon slick waterfall
perched on the railing
and sang its burden of words
loudly and slightly off key,

to the rushing water and the wind
shunning the disinterest and the sickness
while the magician remained invisible
and the car encountered the unyielding tree,

words for a brother
who is just like me.


Freedman said...

behind artspace, yeah? I thought I saw you there the other night but you seemed preoccupied.

i heard about the accident though, is your little bro going to be ok?

HoldMyGaze said...

hm... I guess I was preoccupied.
my brother's a tough kid - just a bit shaken and bruised.

Freedman said...

Like you. How are you, anyway?? Its been a while and you've been putting up with some tough shit if i'm as well informed as i think i am.

I like the recycling of images and having actually seen you there... whose the invisible magician though?