Words of Our Own Making

Fading Words

 

“I’m hurting from desire.”

Repeat after me:

Desire desire desire

Desire desire.

Has the word lost meaning yet?

 

“I’m desperate for the forbidden thrill.”

Repeat after me:

Thrill thrill thrill

Thrill thrill.

What can you see now?

 

“I’m trapped in my own wanting.”

Repeat after me:

Wanting wanting wanting

Wanting wanting.

Can you feel it, fading away?

 

“What’s left for me now?”

The only thing you really need:

A silence waiting to be renamed.

 

 

 

Night is a Word

 

There is suffering in this cold night.

Birds no longer sing and beauty

Is but a stolen glance at a shooting star.

 

There is beauty in this cold night.

Bats sing and suffering

Is but a stolen glance at a shooting star.

 

 

I Want, I Want

 

I want you and time weeps.

I can think of nothing

But your ghostly embrace.

 

I want you and time rejoices.

I can think of nothing

But your ghostly embrace!

 

 

Agony, So You Say

 

There is a thorn somewhere close to my heart:

I call it agony.

It is a constellation of failure

And where it shines brightest

Is where I am most blind.

I look into the light

And imagine the darkness beyond:

Agony.

 

There is a thorn somewhere close to my heart:

I don’t know what to call it.

It feels like failure

And it looks like blindness

I think it must be painful

But how can something nameless

Make me bleed?

 

 

A Thousand Miles Away From A Thousand Miles

 

They tell me people are dying of poverty

In places like North Korea and Venezuela.

They tell me women are being abused

In the Olympian hills of Hollywood.

They tell me abortion is being denied

In places where the cross and the crescent reign.

They ask me, Poet, what do you have to say

To all these injustices?

I tell them: be quiet, I’m trying to listen

To the music of happiness.

Why am I trying to listen

To the music of happiness?

Because I’m not dying of poverty,

I’m not a woman being abused,

I’m not being denied an abortion.

I have no words to utter

That I cannot make flesh.

I cannot speak about what I can’t know.

And neither can you.

They tell me I should speak of injustices

As if the injustice is being done to me.

But to speak of injustice

From a thousand miles away

Is the only true injustice I know of.

And tonight, the moon is wane,

And Orion will shine in the East.

 

 

 

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