Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Out the window
Outside, the blades of grass are long enough to strangle me.
Outside, there have been many days, all too far away to see.
It has rained for many consecutive days, like tears from a
Motherless child, a barren wasteland she has in her stomach.
Nature revitalizes its own without the help of mankind's abilities.
But wait, there's more…
Like the flood of rainwater that gathers
Like tears in the corner of my eyes.
Or the dark sky, black as evil,
The smell, like a cancer ridden cadaver.
As most of the neighborhood dwells in the dead of their dreams,
There are those walking the neighborhood, contemplating
Their next greatest fix that should be their last, knowing that it
Can only last so long. The days last longer than any high.
I am the late-night walker. My fix doesn't exist.
This I know with my own senses.
The rain has slicked all the cars down with a coldness
I can feel even when I'm buried under piles of blankets.
As midnight sounds, the wind comes and breaks promises
Like it were a mortal, leaving my thoughts crunched
Like dead leaves on an ugly slab of deadened earth.
The evidence of Christmas is still left on the houses
Of denial, in the form of blue icicle lights.
Outside are the trees that dip their branches low
As if to pat my shoulder, and brush the fever from my eyes.
I am supposed to be looking out the window,
To see what the outside world holds for me (no fiction) but
It is all the same blackness waiting to swallow
Me whole, waiting to drip down upon my like the jagged
Edges of dragon's teeth. The clouds spit insults to me.
I guess I deserved that, I who so boldly vomited up words
Just to please the sun and the moon, and the stars in between.
They went up and came down without being digested.
I am supposed to peer out the window, but
With these bars, I cannot see too far.
Dogs roam, foraging for food, and this is the rez,
So throw a coyote in and we're set.
The sounds of owl, it is invisible tonight,
Please watch the grounds for pellets tomorrow.
They are always watching.
I should be looking out the window,
And sometimes all I can see is the me I'd like to be,
Staring back at me like I'm an @sshole,
Smiling with her crooked teeth.
Sometimes the window shows me nothing more
Of the neighborhood I've lived in for nearly fifteen years
Except for some stale memories of when
I wrote a sonnet about the streetlight.
Or the time I went swimming at one in the morning.
I was about seventeen then, I knew only of what they taught in books.
I never saw the edge I was standing on, and now I've looked down…
I have tripped, I can always apologize later
For the lies that spilled out along the way.
But I cannot change how I feel when I'm on the inside,
Playing the part of the dreamer, the wisher, the black sheep.
Upon touching the glass window,
I wonder what the shattered edges would taste like,
And if I see it all on the ground,
I'll pick them up and see them shine, just some
Small shattered pieces of the window I always looked out.
From the inside looking out,
A halo of light pours down and all I can think of is that
Once upon a time I was sitting in the rain, spitting
Fairy tales into the sky and wondering when, if ever,
They would fall down and plant themselves
Into the earth, or would they just fall and split my skull.
January 17, 2006
Suge
Outside, there have been many days, all too far away to see.
It has rained for many consecutive days, like tears from a
Motherless child, a barren wasteland she has in her stomach.
Nature revitalizes its own without the help of mankind's abilities.
But wait, there's more…
Like the flood of rainwater that gathers
Like tears in the corner of my eyes.
Or the dark sky, black as evil,
The smell, like a cancer ridden cadaver.
As most of the neighborhood dwells in the dead of their dreams,
There are those walking the neighborhood, contemplating
Their next greatest fix that should be their last, knowing that it
Can only last so long. The days last longer than any high.
I am the late-night walker. My fix doesn't exist.
This I know with my own senses.
The rain has slicked all the cars down with a coldness
I can feel even when I'm buried under piles of blankets.
As midnight sounds, the wind comes and breaks promises
Like it were a mortal, leaving my thoughts crunched
Like dead leaves on an ugly slab of deadened earth.
The evidence of Christmas is still left on the houses
Of denial, in the form of blue icicle lights.
Outside are the trees that dip their branches low
As if to pat my shoulder, and brush the fever from my eyes.
I am supposed to be looking out the window,
To see what the outside world holds for me (no fiction) but
It is all the same blackness waiting to swallow
Me whole, waiting to drip down upon my like the jagged
Edges of dragon's teeth. The clouds spit insults to me.
I guess I deserved that, I who so boldly vomited up words
Just to please the sun and the moon, and the stars in between.
They went up and came down without being digested.
I am supposed to peer out the window, but
With these bars, I cannot see too far.
Dogs roam, foraging for food, and this is the rez,
So throw a coyote in and we're set.
The sounds of owl, it is invisible tonight,
Please watch the grounds for pellets tomorrow.
They are always watching.
I should be looking out the window,
And sometimes all I can see is the me I'd like to be,
Staring back at me like I'm an @sshole,
Smiling with her crooked teeth.
Sometimes the window shows me nothing more
Of the neighborhood I've lived in for nearly fifteen years
Except for some stale memories of when
I wrote a sonnet about the streetlight.
Or the time I went swimming at one in the morning.
I was about seventeen then, I knew only of what they taught in books.
I never saw the edge I was standing on, and now I've looked down…
I have tripped, I can always apologize later
For the lies that spilled out along the way.
But I cannot change how I feel when I'm on the inside,
Playing the part of the dreamer, the wisher, the black sheep.
Upon touching the glass window,
I wonder what the shattered edges would taste like,
And if I see it all on the ground,
I'll pick them up and see them shine, just some
Small shattered pieces of the window I always looked out.
From the inside looking out,
A halo of light pours down and all I can think of is that
Once upon a time I was sitting in the rain, spitting
Fairy tales into the sky and wondering when, if ever,
They would fall down and plant themselves
Into the earth, or would they just fall and split my skull.
January 17, 2006
Suge
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Out the window
Out the window
