I am my own worst enemy,
And my only companion.
Running images behind my eyes
Like a manic, runaway film reel.
Nothing complete, nothing but bits and confounding distractions,
Nothing but hints, rushing by, hurried and then gone,
A fucked up flurry of emotions,
Stabbing me with images, sadness, beauty and pain,
Courage and struggle and triumph.
“What is that”? “Who is she”? “What can it all mean?”
Constant frustration, knowing that I cannot
Capture a fraction of it all, standing in the gush of a stream
As salmon leap and surge all around in an orgy of
Need and creation.
And the clock keeps ticking.
The surprised wonder at some unknown beauty or distant galaxy, exploding,
Twisted sandstone canyons, galaxies found in
A young woman’s eyes.
One minute depressed, the next filled with unqualified love, desire, longing, certainty.
If I were to be able to just list this passing parade,
You might turn away, embarrassed or repulsed.
You might hear an echo of your own madnesses and flittering fantasy parade,
Drawn to it, curious to know that you aren’t the only one.
But am I?