Words stack up
like logos showing
a secret prisoner
pulling at
each thought
until it drags heavy.
Hiding hands
across my back
so no one sees
what I have
to give
or want to take
shielding my desire.
Living out of
not living
but justifying.
Wondering why
someone once
wanted
an accounting
telling me not to
do
everything I could
and would
hanging on
to strangle
what was perfectly
natural
in the first place.
In a pale shade
on a
blank horizon
I learn to say
that I am not
and become
anesthetized
to the difference.
Words tighten.
I am not.
I am not.
I am not.
I wish the end would come
but I go on
proving myself
looking back
secretive and
threatened.
What is it
that trespasses
in my
darkened will
breaking
the hard surface
that holds it all
down
fragmenting
packed
understandings
that make
a place I dare not
disturb.
Raking the coals
of
a passion to be
long dormant.
Freeing someone
at last
from these
turbulent waters
swirling down
eroding
everything I could admit
about
myself.
From the book of poems, “Desperate Measures” (2012).
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