The Gordian Scar
Words that are Band Aids
one day i woke up alive,
serenaded by the white lies of snow music.
lying there, i fingered rosary beads of thoughts. strings of words like
cryptogram,
sunflower,
star.
the loose ends of silence were woven into a Gordian knot of thoughts
made only for thinking and the loneliness of knowing
nothing.
i drew rambling breaths onto the window pane,
wrote my name in the cloud brambles,
watched as it disappeared.
breathed hard, again, onto the same whispering spot, again,
again, again--
becoming transfixed by the magic madness
of bringing sadness back.
Healing that is Placebo
in furious prophecies of loathing,
i always thought surgery was placebo,
a concealment of the unfixable— thought it naïve
to believe in forgeries wrought of a stranger’s ambition,
intruding stranger incisions,
strange decisions made by one who knows nothing
of the initial trauma, its breaking strength.
and yet, self will fail
to attach back to hostile self.
A Different Kind of Breaking
she could never look directly at him,
but cast two shadows, sometimes more.
sometimes it was like a dial of dimness,
a dying star of sunflower shaped shadow.
sometimes something breaks for reasons not love,
sometimes its lack of love, the unspoken
intrusion, strange
rip of incision, slow
boiling of body down to its husk, petrification
making raisin of human heart,
black hole,
dry rattling flower,
cryptogram.
Gordian body of knots
must be cut.
“Productive imagination is the center in which the universal and being, one's own and what is picked up, internal and external, are completely welded into one.”
-the lovely Hegel
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