ALONE BY FAULT
AN OPEN WOUND
UNHEALED DIRTY
FILLED WITH SALT
JUST WAITING WANTING
FORSAKEN ALONE
WANDERING SEARCHING
A PLACE, HOME
COLD, SCARED
SCARRED
BUT YEARNING
HEART WAITING, BARRED
ADDICTED I THINK
MISSING THE PAIN
MY HEART MY SLEEVE
THE BLOOD THE STAIN
A BARREN SHELL
COVERED IN SKIN
SELECTIVE PICKY
WHO I LET IN
BUT I MISS YOU
PAIN HEARTBREAK
YOU MUST BE SPECIAL
FOR MY FUTURE ACHE
My favorite book is THE COMPLETE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE. In it there is one passage in one particular play that I am extraordinarily fond of – to wit – Act 3, Scene 4, of Antony and Cleopatra. It is the line of verse that immediately follows a passionate soliloquy by Cleopatra, in which the doomed Queen declares her undying love for Antony, wrestling as they both do with their fate that is certain to tear their lives asunder and end their lives forever. And when Cleopatra concludes her soliloquy, there is a profound silence. And then the next line – my favorite – reads as follows:
Another Egyptian Enters The Room
Now the boys loved their faithful dolphin companion,
Flipper. How he was always there for them in times
of danger or grave peril. How did he do this? How
did he know? Well, it’s simple: the ocean is filled
with hundreds of thousands of dolphins who love
little boys, and all look pretty much identical.
And dolphins are exceedingly polite, and
always willing to say “After you, sir.”
Come to me wearing all your scars,
come to me bring the divine tears of despair
and the darkness of your fall,
you see i want it all from you,
don’t worry, the softness of our lips
will change the fate.
Great news, they said,
we’re getting the band
back together.
Problem is, I never
learned the instrument
I was supposed to use.
So I sit pretending, quietly
blowing a horn
while the rest of piece
is woven around me.
They tell me
to act normally, but I am
far from normal,
so far from what is
expected,
yet doing my own
dance in the shadow.
You can’t please them all
got to put your
words out there
Let them crackle
like bacon on the sidewalk
Sell them like portraits
at the beach
Art is more than high bids.