Friday, July 19, 2013


I walk into the street armed with words I wrote last night.

They are my bronze armor when dark befalls on frigid winter days.
When thoughts of an unredeemable past resurface,
Their company disarms anger, soothes the hurt,
Laces details into the larger tapestry.  

Alas, they
Often rebel.
Solemnly refuse to
Offer any consolation,
They                        just                     sit there                            and sit
Their commanding presence nearly a declaration of war
Each letter              s                t               a               r                e                 s
At me insubordinately,
Void of resonance,
Indifferent to my pleas.

Unburden me!  I demand.  Set me free!
Absolve my faults,                                       
Redeem it all!

Silence in response.
Letters curve in                  
Meaningless twirls;
The magic wand devoid of magic.

Shieldless, I cower at my doorsteps like a swordless worrier.
Met by shrewd winds, and
Strangers milling in the streets in the millions.
I turn to flee.  Back indoors! feet are commanded.
Wait, a thin voice arises from the lamppost a step away. 
I near it; the black metal is cold to the touch, quiet to the ear.
Yet I wait. 

The sun moves away; shortly, dark will fall.  I tighten my woolly hat.
And wait.  Incapacitated.  Night takes over. 
All alone in a bitter streetcorner. 

Then some slight movement underfoot.
Or am I imagining?

Slowly they start rising from the pavement,
Dropping from the awnings,
Leaping out of my coat sleeves.
Forming into
Coil and whirl; my eyes twitch, birthing more letters,
Flowing down my cheeks.  My neck, wet with words.
I bleed, I vomit; sentences stream out in
Spasms of sweat, my head implodes
With tidal surges.
The street is inundated
With waves of tales.

Pedestrians flee, cars loudly screech, the ground shakes,
A roof nearby caves in, rats run out of their burrows.

Sufficed, I shake my stiff limbs and saunter down the street
With poise.

Armor at hand.