past is present.
Shivering, a silent gap
entombed by the faltering hand
mixing the sigils in the dark
like forgotten tokens of past
rewritten cut like black ice
smoldering twisted iron,
a symbol of one inner self
/never gone.
Always shifting beneith the skin
chameleon,
drinking mixed inks
and spewing out these
vieled curtains, busted windows
a skull turned in on itself
moving to turn these songs
into cohesive adhesive
sticking to our flesh,
slipping across raw wounds
like oil over glass.
This dance is done
exhumed connected
addressed by the shifting
one to two to eleven
a raw burning shivering
in the depths of recurrent condition
a broken prism, swaying pendulum
abstracted by the disconnectedisconnected
eyes glassed by the sound
that makes pictures, makes sentences
makes stories
from soot and damaged remnants
of energy turned over
in its grave.
There is a passion, a self
destruction of former,
a step into the present,
constructed of past falling
through empty space,
those gaps between words,
those silences
we could never say the right thing
what is right
when the world has fallen
and everything is left
to squander its
hidden wealth.
A small face hidden
a mask of chipped porcelean
a dwindling smoke
they evaporate as they are spoken
in hot breath and sharp sparks
like cross inflicted wire
the ressurection of mindful
meaning..swaying
upon the current of current
beliefs disbelieving
that this is the state of things
the way we love to like
each other,
but tend to hate ourselves.
The perfection portrayed is unattainable
we are flawed
beautiful with our scars
pale and unfading.
Embrace.
Embrace.
Embrace.
There is nothing here, on your screen
that has right to dictate,
there is nothing in those words
that can tell you who-you are
yourself.
There is only conncetion,
the feeling within the cavernous
interior of fuel
burning and burning
put it to use,
lest it burn you out.
There are vast minds, worlds
of confliction, of missing
birds in flight,
there is a myraid of views
torn apart and placed together
side by side
we are complexity, made to change
made to find
those flames within ourselves
made to walk our paths
without reference to 'what is beautiful
and what is not'
taste the self,
taste the self
and find those inner shows
of meaning
of passion
of darkness
light
darkness
do not hide yourself
from yourself
do not cover and conceal
the breaks that made you
the strength gifted
in following nothing
through dust and distress
these pathways through the mind
this waste, this grace
traveling to time.
'a jester with a busted lip'
a torn photograph printed
rancid
and sleeping sideways
slipping downhill
where is the drain
to collect our disinterest
and refashion, rekindle
the birth we bear
whether words or brushstrokes,
a mangled collage
of reminders
that what we walk forwards
towards..
the brightness, caught like slivers
in our eyes,
in just the right time
to give off sparks..
X
~J.Tyracek