I found a photograph / an earlier version of the self / out and about in the real world currently unavailable / short hair / no, no hair as if I really cared / back then a decade ago I crossed the Tiananmen Square / hand in hand I walked alone among strangers / among short people I found fascinating / I did say short just then, but you should read that only in the sense of height / of latitude above the river dividing the city into Pudong and the Puxi / no the Huangpu does not divide Tiananmen Square so be aware / I travelled fast back then / I found love and lost in equal measure / rapid fall from grace; trust me / I found a photograph / an earlier version of the self / so I grabbed the hair clipper / my trusted Wahl / chose the 3mm attachment / the rest is history / though I am glad the winter still rages on / hidden beneath the hat the head of sorrows / awaiting the tomorrow and a regrown patch of hair
We found god at the bottom of the well
& the child spoke in riddles,
A pointing index finger
& the words superfluously lingered,
We found god at the bottom of the well
& the riddle spoke to the child seeking,
A rope binding the two truths
& the truths meandering,
We found god at the bottom of the well
& there I trembled,
Between the god and the child fingering
I found a truth and a solace permanent,
So I go on, having found a truth,
No longer seeking refuge,
I could love cats next, or just watch
Paint drying
You spoke of a prophecy and I went
Meh
I spoke to no one in particular and you
Disagreed
We became & later we … split in two
Our love was never that; never the intended
Outcome
So here we are, we see and we see not
The path ahead and the preferred route
As they intended, and as the see fit
We are strangers and yet, we are not
You spoke to me with the words of a mother, are you a mother like the mothers in fictional stories seen on screens larger than life itself, like those having children that kept on dreaming, I was once the son of a mother not screamin’, one too scared to love her only son, one that kept asking what was going on, and expecting an answer, I refused to budge, to give an inch of truth of the goings on inside, & fuck. and fuck you, and so life goes on, in silence
I find no solace in an empty bottle, as
The shadows of the temptress haunt me,
I speak French in dreams I see before me,
You wear no clothes & the bra is padded.
But,
&
No, no, …
There is no way forward …
There is a path, … A path not taken, but
I stay hidden as I is famous, and
Famously unnoticed and thus
Unspoken of, forgotten.
I find no solace in an empty bottle,
I find a me without a you,
I see a dream fading slowly,
I kick the can down memory lane &
Watch it bouncing
Always
They talk in so many ways of the harm to children experiencing a simple smack of guidance; to improve their learning and to pave the way for their success as future adult-kind. I wish, hand on heart, I would have gotten smacked as a child. Anything would have been better than your silent treatment; your turned back and the nonspeaking for days on end continuing. If you wanted me to learn, then for the love of God why did you not speak. Your silence was weak, and were you not dead already; I would seek you out, axe in hand. Screaming.
Is it conceivable to love someone you never met, conversed with or even seen their face? Can such love be real and here I am stretching the imagination to every sensible definition of real? In all probabilities you would say no; probably not as far as sensible people go. Yet I claim to have found such love. In her words I find the comfort I do not find in my own, yet they are the same, or similar; familiar to an extent which I cannot ignore. She is the same. Alike as like could ever be, painted upon a starless sky: a dream in light or darkness regardless of day or night. She conveys me, but unfortunately will never know me. I remain in hiding, unable to come forward plainly. If you see her, tell her so: there once was a man who loved you; he wanted more but alas in this life he could not, not gather strength to pursue