Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Not for my ego



[‘take another little piece of my heart now baby; you know you got it if it makes you feel good"]

My door has never known
a lock nor key,
My door has never known
a lock nor key,
Twill always be free
to all who dream,
and any who wonder
how to combine
fire with the sea.

So many invitations have now become
trampled in the gutter scum;
as no one sought to wander
—without their armor casings—
through this
maze of passion-candles burning.
Nor did they care to undress

in compassion-veined corridors.

But I pay homage to Ms. Janis,
A soul carved deep with scars;
she gave away
pieces of her heart,
asking nothing in return.
She sang the Blues till the end
and died alone—
but, oh, mother,
she knew,
that so do we all.
And this I know
from the depths of my soul,
Southern Comfort
kept her company
as keening lyrics
burst with Empathy,
and no one sang her to the grave.




Oh, of the many that live,=2 0so few
ever quest their hearts.
Oh yea, they hold only
replicas in metal and diamonds cold,
hoarded tight within their chest,
for only in things do they trust.
Oh, yea, oh yea, oh yea.
They hope, covet, crave
and Pray—
to remain unscathed
as they whine and walk
the one and only journey
that so must we all,
the road upon which they fear to touch another
the road that batters, marks, and scars,
no matter how hard we stall.
Though jagged cuts cleave muscles,
Still, I fling open wide
the etched glass doors to my heart,
and, oh, you can be sure,
I say to everyone,
Come in, and in return, I’ll give you the sum
of all I am and all that I will become.
Some bold and some just curious
stepped inside my mind,
Oh, my, did we spin works of art,
Slide from coral-red, painted arcs
Climb galaxies of physics,
Float in glossy cobalt quarks,
free-fall in tingling canyon drops down synapses—
wrapped safely in these dancer arms,
leaping and spinning into the unknown…
But one by one they stopped,
before the central mystery….
Blinded by precious stones, they grabbed—
Hearts’ opals, unique in facet and swirl,
and flung the jagged chunks, now scattered before swine.
One by one they walked away—a piece of my heart in tow.
I hocked my wounds at peep shows,
and watched fissures erupt through my art.
With a laser in one hand, an IV in the other,
head bowed and body bruised,
I cauterized the leaking veins,
yet and always my heart renews…
Marked forever outside in,
Crying hearts,
Inscribed in ink,
Drip and Slide across my skin.
For I pay homage to Ms. Janis,
A soul mapped deep with scars;
she gave away pieces of her heart,
asking nothing in return.
She sang the Blues till the end
and died alone,
but, oh, mother,
she knew,
that so do we all.
And this I know,
from the depths of my soul,
Southern Comfort
kept her company
as keening lyrics
burst with Empathy,
and no one sang her to the grave.
Oh, of the many that live, so few
ever quest their hearts.
Oh yea, they hold only
replicas in metal and diamonds cold
hoarded tight within their chest,
for only in things do they trust.
Oh, yea, oh yea, oh yea.
They hope, covet, crave
and Pray—
to remain unscathed
as they whine and walk
the one and only journey
that we must all,
the road upon which they fear to touch another
the road that batters, marks, and scars,
no matter how hard we stall.
So I pay homage to Ms. Janis,
And follow in her path.
My soul is gouged deep with wounds,
Still, away I give pieces of my heart
And ask nothing in return.
I’ll dance the Blues till the end;
I’ll die alone,
but, oh, mother, I know,
that so do we all.
And this I know
from the depths of my soul,
seeds of dance
keep me company
as keening words
jolt with Empathy
and no one dances me to the grave.
Yes, seeds of dance
keep me company
as keening words
jolt with Empathy
and no one dances me to the grave.



1 comment:

Ann Tracy's said...

that was beautiful....