Since my last post,
I have written with dedication
And nothing seems good enough to me.
and commit words
to this body of work,
and it all just seems so
out of place
For every day that has passed since my last post,
I have composed at least two new entries.
And each of these
labors of love,
are aborted and cast aside.
Is my focus,
I am left to wonder.
This whole simple thing
was nothing more than experiment.
A experiment of words and images
dedicated to the discovery of self-awareness
during a time of great duress and ache.
This was a living,
It was through great strength,
that I was able to cut and tear these words
out from beneath the viscera and sinew
as a cool wind blows in from the east,
across the subtle shattered blue glass surface
of Old Road Bay,
what have I gained?
I don't feel any better.
Truth be told,
I feel worse.
My sense of aloneness
has only been heightened and reinforced.
I am only at peace,
as the sun falls,
and the night climbs over the water.
are just moments spent
Until night falls
when I can walk free
about the beach
and down the pier;
spot-lighting glistening leopard-print gooey slugs,
and the intricate and fleeting architecture of spiders on the hunt.
whilst dreaming or awake,
I am not sure,
I was visited by what seemed like a thousand restless souls.
They filed passed my bed
and were compelled to touch me.
A thousand unfamiliar hands
softly reached out
and grazed my being
as they passed,
by my bed and through my room.
One small soul,
climbed over me
as it made it's way out the window next to my bed.
Such a small thing was so heavy
that it felt as if I would be crushed
deep into the mantle of this earth
as it made its way home.
And I lay,
without a scream of terror
or a shout of joy.
I just let them all pass
over and through me.
And then there was just me.
I watered my basil plant,
smoked my cigarette,
and drank my coffee.
It was no different from any other morning
here in my exile.
I have a ledger
in which I make note of the first words I utter
I began this exercise
because I was puzzled
by my lack of vocalization.
that without anyone to converse with,
I was beginning to lose my familiarity with my own voice.
I began writing down,
my first words,
each and every day.
my morning routine,
I entered the bathroom
and looked upon myself in the mirror.
I was shocked to find,
my side burns and a decent portion of the hair
on the side of my head
had gone gray.
Perhaps I have neglected to check up on me?
Perhaps I am just in need of a haircut,
and the gray was growing out unnoticed?
Perhaps I have lost touch with the physical me?
Whatever the case may be,
here are the first words I spoke this morning,
"Dear Lord man, where have you been?"