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the_awful_truth
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picture me,
looking stoned,
riding home
four days old.
they said i stared
at all the filth
from G.W.
to Capitol Hill
where we lived
in that house
with the two staircases
to the one landing.
And when we moved
to that quiet street
with lots of kids
I couldn't wait to meet
I was ready,
i was excited to
move to that studied environment.
But throughout life I've always been
separated from my kin and friends and even family
by these blinding lines no one can see
and everyone just walks around
they talk and laugh and dont think about
the underworld beneath the words we speak,
and sometimes scream to be heard.
You know,
Cliches,
the lone wolf,
the solo rider,
the tortured soul,
romantic writer.
but Deep Thinker is all i need
those other things aren't really me.
But thinkers all us humans be
and, you know,
if think we not, then who we be?
But thoughts inside my head are black.
The dreams I have at night come back
Repeat on me throughout the day
ANd sometimes? The things I say?
they never make sense to ANYONE but me.
And do they, me?
Really, really?
Sometimes i think not even me, that words come from behind me, from back in time, my ancestry, the Gnostic monks, the twist of Cain, it lives today, in you.
and me.
these feelings that people have felt
that's you
that's me
and there's nobody else
that i know
to compare
i know that it's there
in your eyes
in your smile
in your scream
and in your lines
on your skin
you're so bold.
i'm so alone
and it's getting cold.
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061030
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