Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god


This neighborhood is bitter.
There's no wind, no breeze
To make me absent.
There is nothing, but drug
Dealers in the streets
And children walking around.

It is nearly midnight.

I sit here, cigarette in hand,
Poised for conversation with
My pen and notebook.

There are other voices here,
Besides mine.
It's cold, despite the lack of wind.

I look to the pattern of scars
Upon my arm, as a light
Rain begins to fall.
It is gentle at first but,
Within seconds it falls heavier.

Tonight I will dance.
Tonight I will surrender myself
To the rains, to the thunder,
To the wind that is suddenly there.

I will let it drench me,
Eat me, swallow me whole
Until there lacks my mortal self.
For as the rain stops falling,
So will I.

And maybe as everything grows
With this sudden burst,
Perhaps I will too.

Perhaps the scars will go away.
Perhaps I'll grow into the person
I always wanted to be.

A person made of clouds and
Raindrops, an attitude softer
Than the electrical fire
Attitude I currently possess;
A person who's eyes are not ice,
But soft as snow,
Flawless (scarless) skin,
The angry soul trying to
Scratch its way out of my body
Will go to sleep until
It all becomes too much again.

July 13, 2006

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