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Eyes Cast Downward- Memoir Excerpt

Originally hand written in July 2015 Late Spring of 2014.  Just Months before liver failure Our eyes are nearly always cast dow...

Monday, April 25, 2016

Gasoline Rainbows

Flaccid lips slap banal tea, only the body is in torpor.
The mind has spoiled the night, that stillness has no true name.
Angst, I understood as part of me, an accepted useless appendage. 

My sixth toe on the left foot.
 I feel the weight of its existence; secret callous of torment.
 And heavy are the steps of trepidation
 mammoth is a heart hindered .

Oh sweet purity of long ago and forever after;
 I remember your name!
Your esemplastic chords pull me close, leading me home.
You linger near the quiet, tender haunting, an eternal murmuration,
it starts like this, a patient crescendo.
“Come. You will see.”

Four piles of ash of ages ago, just yesterday.

Bound upon your stage for a cruel audience you try to ignore.
The only set of keys is in your back pocket look and you’ll see.
Shackled there, the entire world is an insipid shade of grey.
The gasoline rainbow, a complete ignorance of colors existence.
Still have an attachment to that script, that misery is familiar.
All those creatures, those destructive and misplaced demigods.
 “Shake and rattle the cerebral to wake the sleeping spirit!”
If only she could save herself. “To what end?” the fool asks.
Storm clouds give way for more agreeable conditions in time.
“Rejected” in a thought,  in spirit “Ejected”- to higher places.
Incessant chatter, intermittent chatter, "Phone call, line two!".
The arrogance, so futile, so exhausting and I would like a seat.
Remembrance that life is one visit to the cinema as spectator!
To leave limbs and bones behind and bear witness; up and out.
Time does not exist in this place, it fades away; all save the beat.
You know how to express your existence, once in your solitude.
You breath, you feel, you see. You are a creator, you exist.
The great suffering and contemplation to simply breathe.
To have for a time, a unification with unsullied territory.
Grains of sand beneath her feet; all is malleable and enveloping.
When I am the child, frightened child, what am I to do with her?
“Forgive" reminds me with the first wave to kiss feet.
In the all quiet, the midst of glass shattering screaming cells.
It is beyond tangibility; the berating torture of the ego- deafens.
It starts like this, speaking through silence, a whisper,
 "Come. You will see".

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

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