Thing

If you could get out of your own light

for three minutes

and accept the burning words,

the implausible darkness

we all hide and hold,

you would forgive

my postmodern sexuality

and sunlit mind.

i am an articulated sound

travelling fast, an obscure alternative

desintegrating all mathematical symbols

you ride so tragically well.

two plus one is zero and

we both know how fearful

figures are as we avoid syllables

and the possible loosing of

our skin from our muscles

and truths.

we are two brutes swallowing

holes, our aging dreams,

our (in)visibility before

the night. 

cook for me, will you?

what kind of man does that?

cook your heart and

serve me.

let me eat your power

and stupid, naive light.

i am this.

your sanctity doesn't 

make sense to me.

yes, smoke life,

smoke your fears.

i am in awe:

the grass is so greener

there.

you and your fragile prayers

to a god i can't understand.

you kneeling down,

glorifying me like scared altar boy

again.

(shhhhh...)

your rusty halo, your cross,

your perennial world.

i am sorry if i inhabit

an unfeeling poem.

i am this.

karla bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2015