From the outside who would know?

Manon_1Born unhealthy

never bruised

from the outside who would know?

the script runs, ticker tape without parade

bleeds over page

paper makers who grind words flat

pinch their rabbinical noses and laugh

huffing ink turning to night’s best epitaph

words words words

what if no language were taught?

gesticulating without benefit of lamp

deaf to injury, blind to plight

what if I shut you in a box and told you

start over, be something else

when your cocoon matured and sticky with life you reemerged

what would you choose?

if not language then

how to describe the pounding of our skinned hearts

pummeled by trespassing probiscus

or fear or loss or something beyond vowel and verse

such as it is

greatest emotion has only, a mark within person

no color no lines no regular interpretation

I put your citrus fingers on my shoulder

stay the curve, feel the hurt and rhubarb joy

rising and falling collapsing bestowing

levitated notions buried and choking

no accent no ethnicity we come from no place

we are no one

in a world sucking through graceless cherry straw

the fervor of acquisition and absurdity

our stage unheated flat and spartan

we learn no lines no mantra, no soliloquy

the actor stands and reveals himself

without pretense, wig and powder

shining underneath a hot summer pulse

blue raven turns his glassy eye

in shuttered shift of crimson cloud

toward cloth moon and catches hare’s quiet


into infinitum and beyond boundary

speak to me

speak to me

speak to me

use what you have within



64 thoughts on “From the outside who would know?

  1. Your words render me speechless. SO… I will send you my warmest thoughts. Thank you my dear friend for inspiring me daily.

  2. the actor stands and reveals himself,
    without pretense, wig and powder,
    shining underneath a hot summer pulse.

    Profound. This reveals the vulnerability that some of now are capable of showing. As a sufferer of deep thinking and often stuck in some sort of existential crisis, which leads to depression and self-medicating. The more I lose the pretense the healthier I become. I now stand naked as I am, a deeply flawed individual and actually I am an actor who has now been very open about my illness and in doing so has gotten so much feedback from others in pain, it relieves me that my broken self can soothe another. Here is my page. A tortured and beaten writer and actor.

  3. ‘Start over. Be something else’… touches the core. It brings out the pain of a wasted life, as well as excitement of starting a new one. Excellent piece!

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