The Skin Cycle VI: A Wild Field
In a wild field, where you've left me
To contemplate, but not discover
What it was like, when we were alive.
If your heart remained
A pulsing organ, from which
The bulging veins and arteries
Would crawl up and blossom
From the ground, into a flower--
I will be there, to pick the petals.
It will be there for me to remember
Why Abel missed his mother
But never gave another thought
To a certain sibling of his--
Marking her grave with thorny roses
And wreathes of leafy vines,
But forgetting his brother...
The one he kissed so passionately,
As he was stabbed through the heart.In a wild field, where you've left me
To contemplate, but not discover
What it was like, when we were alive.
The structure of a fallen leaf,
Brittle and dead in a Spring garden--
That was what it should have been,
Firing off a cannonade
Of furtive laughter
As I slowly crushed it in my hand.
Here is an album of pictures I took
Of people I no longer know--
Here is a book, filled with names
Of people that hate me now--
And when I throw them away, I discover
The curvature of my lip, into a smile,
Becomes the deforming snap of my spine.
They call themselves a master-race
Which you should, by rights, belong to--
So different than my delusions,
With your body more suited
For a kind of delight
I studied, but never got to possess.
But I could steal away a dagger
And do as I should: impale myself--
In agonies of self-righteous loathing...
When everyone hears the resulting screams
I'll be miles away already.
When I am finally alone,
Left to pick up my dreams
That were smashed and shattered
In time immemorial--
Every little piece will still reflect
An image of you and I--
Suited enough, to make a gallery
I'll stash away in a private room,
To behold when I want to remember the past
Fondly, but deeply, in miserable silence.In a wild field, where you've left me
To contemplate, but not discover
What it was like, when we were alive.