MY DAUGHTER’S PAIN

The pain
of my daughter’s pain
infuses my brain like a flavored vodkaed drink.

Bubbly  and effervescent,
I wallow in her delusions
of what may have happened:
never spoken words
inflected on the
arcs of time.

I know not who I am,
I know not why I came
to inhabit my paltry
heart and brain
except to say
I love your
shoes.

You sang to me before I knew you
and whispered of what nights are to be.

A weight?
I lift it off

A family curse?
Perhaps.

The curse of crazy knowingness
no one else would like to hear.

O daughter of mine –
Oh continent wide
Keeper of the darkest caves, of
Ancestors bones, cracked and decayed.

While she wonders
who is speaking
ill of her right now –
Perhaps a grandmother
from other times and places
who managed to occupy her brain
and make her go what some call insane.

But I feel not the
rot is deep,the
furrows wide, on
caravans of camels’ hides.
Maybe she can hide
’til will all reach the other side.

I embrace my madness
I embrace my lust
I embrace my nothingness
of cinders and dust.

My stay on Earth
it matters not
to anyone
but me,
or so I don’t believe
that crosses
crucified happen every day –
some place, some time, new or far away,

Are just a symptom,
a paltry symptom,
of these so sad and hardened times,
when sweet clinging wisteria vines
weep in a yellow fog
of poppy seeds
and cherry
blossoms wither
on their shriveled vines.

Her hair is still a beautiful
chestnut brown and red,
and down her lovely
back are mariposas blue

I wish
I never knew
the infinite love
she once awoke in me,
nourishing my deepest needs
of elements and forever seeds.

Oh eternal heart, eternal soul,
perhaps you never grow old,
but I sit here and weep
for the promises
I have yet
to keep.

From Mystic Mourn (2015)

 

 

 

 

 

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