And in companionship,
Where all have become the none,
The voices of ancient myths and mariners
Call to me, clamoring for my attention.
This, the incessant teasing of ancient philosophers,
Storybook authors, and Internet drama queens.
This, the obtuse influence of
Salesmen and politicians, artists and fishermen,
And fat men riding around in limousines.

I’ve been moved by the tongues of
Kimono dragons,
Called to action by the uniformity of sunflowers.
Restless centipedes have come to visit me,
As if in the twiggy mulch of a forest floor our meeting
Might produce a meaningful moment.

Hallucination more real than the daily make-believe.

Led as if to water,
This game of chance to challenge
Time and Time again.
And Death,
Death passes over me,
Hovers above the sand and the clay,
The dark, rich earth and the granite stone,
Insisting that I was once so much more
Than just another pretty face.

Better to have lived and loved?
What do you know!

Who else would remember that dark-skinned girl?
Who else was there to see
When we squatted under that corrugated tin roof,
Monsoon rain dripping in while we
Ate rice from wooden bowls with our fingers,
Tasted each other in carnal pleasure,
And then stretched ourselves, naked and satisfied,
Across two thatched mats made of
Hand-woven palm leaves?

Oh, for you to swirl that pot!
Oh, for you to stir those piquant memories!

I,
I forever drifting, awake and alone,
Life finding me in a thousand latent love affairs,
Replete with trembling hands and mixed emotions,
Carrying me like flotsam to so many distant destinations
I cannot recall them all.

Temporary refuge sought in so many unexpected storms.
Clinging to a sudden smile, a fortuitous turn of events,
Garnishing support where conviction and commitment
Were noticeably absent.

Touch not the hems of normalcy!
Eat not of the strength of friends!
Sleep not beside another warm and caring body!
Forget all links to parentage and kin!

These are the inescapable messages;
Edicts from Mesopotamia,
Egyptian allegories,
And Aztec inscriptions:

Listen to the native drums!
Witness the moon walk and the Sun Dance!
Experience the rum and the vomit,
Regret the innocent and the ignorant,
Compassion and romantic interludes be damned!
The market-square mobs will forever lead us,
Like devout followers of the burning bush,
To find our fine and final destinations.

And in the interim we must
Watch as the other Others mark their territory,
Revel in the promises of this life and a life hereafter,
And point out the blatant deceit
In pyrite and communism.

My soul gone weary now,
Sated by past revelations,
A worldview covered in dried blood;
Stained with hideous images,
Discolored with unthinkable possibilities,
Crippled by irregular heartbeats…
And all the while,
I continue to cling to the notion;
If you want something bad enough
It will be the wish that, in the end,
Is almost certain to come true !

And left with my inordinate despair,
I rummage for a necessary diversion;
Eagerly seeking some small hint of affection.
Still hoping to spot that hidden gem of absolution,
Buried deep in someone else’s summer dream.

Seeing so little of the once big picture,
I am bent like a weed in a bitter winter wind,
Mind numb, face to the ground.
This, my best vision, obscured by fate;
I am blinded by life’s stick in the eye.
No lovers, few friends,
Usually high,
And seldom, if ever, out and about…

Why bother?

Why should I?

I am busy crying lightning over painted deserts.
I am busy weeping confetti and autumn leaves.
I am busy listening for the murmur of oceans,
The whisper of falling rain,
And the laughter of mountain streams.
I am busy waiting for a kiss,
A single soft kiss to my right cheek.

But I smell the battle of Saigon,
I taste the God of indifference,
And despite the possibilities,
I remain alone,
Talking to myself
(again).





Michael S. True
2-15-14