Newly Found

What is this mysterious stranger?

My enemy decided by this instant gag reflex? Is it my friend because of the heart palpitation?

Why is my body my decryptor, its insecurities determining my decisions like a war general?

Questions, questions, questions. New England with its misty air and sea breeze, would, at the same time, cloud my mind and clear it. This is the solution. Run. Forever.

Why would you be with me? I hate closeness, I hate love. I hate it, hate it, hate it. Get away Satanic worship, your pagan sexual desire creeping near my legs with feathery daggers. Get your welcome hand from my hair, its nine-inch nails are driving into my scalp.

Drink this, eat this, swallow this: capsules, and pills, and dreary dialogue. Happiness precluded by fame and acceptance.

“You are one of the few and forgotten. Stay in the shadows of my people and dwindle to the speck of your righteous god.”

Foreign blasphemers! Leave me be in these ashes and blowing dust! My fears are my hope, while any escape means death.

But light like whisps of incense creep from the sky. My hope at last in physical form. He is bright and beautiful, inspiring the world to be with, and like, Him. The creation sings with the voice of a mighty lion, yes, like the roars of a pride of lions.

And my King, the Lion of Zion, here to lead me. In you my victory lies.

In Him is my love. In Him is my reflection.

But now, dark images projected on blank stone the color of licorice.

Plath's Shoe

"Write with Description!"
but I only can stare
at your scuffed shoes.
They are leather,
worn and black -
like a negro spiritual.

Your toes must be cramped!
hidden within, their neighbors:
arrogance and nonchalance.

"Write from your heart!"
What heart do you mean?
That pumping jar inside my chest?
Whose beating resounds in my ears,
one little crack threatening
to fill me with life and death?

This is banal,
do not speak of it to me.

"Write from your experience!"
I live, I die. This is all.
Experiences distinguish, yes,
extinguish my passion
like a daylit candle seeking recognition.

Experience destroys
the dreams, the hopes,
of yesterday.

"Write from your soul!"
Yes. My soul.
This I can show.
But this soul is no soul
if it is flattened under you
black shoe.