Measure up

Degrees like minutes

momentarily we see

gathering thin air.

Painting by John Constable, 'Study of a cloud sky', c. 1825, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Cell Block 9

 

There is the normal shock

that consumes the soul

upon arriving in a new reality

bare, with no traces 

of a former life-line-perforated-

into breath and blink

inside out.

You can open your eyes,

your mouth,

as the four walls

close in-for walls

box, cell or plaster 

made to contain

or hold-

back-then

This is It,

all that is needed to 

eat, sleep, repeat

every day, what were seasons and 

shades no longer define a time, a space

like black and white, day to night,

all began bleeding 

grey. The light only hurts

open wounds, such as eyes and mouth.

This much

Less, is more

deserved 

when sentenced 

for Life

without color, without a soul, without a window, 

with a reflection of nothing that was, is

held inside

with only the wait 

for Freedom 

that releases

the fear from inside out

but chooses to stay. 

Artwork credit: 'Acta Apostolorum (Acts of the Apostles)', Plate numbered 27, The Conversion of the Warder; to left, St Paul and Silas kneel in their prison cell; the prison warder descends the steps leading to the open doors of the cell, his sword drawn; behind him two other armed men follow, bearing torches; to far right, figures congregate on a flight of stairs. 1582 by the British Museum, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Whisp-hers

Whispy so faint

or feign like clouds,

like whispers 

of empty voice

filled in breezes

that matter not

until

hitting something

like chimes

whereby hinting of 

something more

of substance,

a question

lingers like

what matters

until...

Painting by Konrad Krzyżanowski, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Slaughter

They-

wanted me to fail-

expected me to-

secretly 

suffer.

They

believed him

who spoke in tongues

dripping with alcohol-

venom-

or temptation.

They

assumed some-

thing some-

one else 

knowing naked and shorn

They

could never make it through

the frozen nights

of solitude.

They

estimated-

were mistaken and

some, like me, would say

unlucky

betting on the black sheep

betting on the lamb

who is the wolf

you feed-

and the bitten hand

that continues to write through the pain.

Painting by William Sidney Cooper, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Spinning wheel

 

As far away as we

All are

From where we once stood

not long ago

relative 

to what sticks and what flies off

Spinning 

as we are

oblivious to this

Constant.

Nothing 

stays,

nothing is graspable

for one life-

time-

Goes fast and slow

relative 

to how our time

is-

perceived.

And still

try we must

to hold on

centripetally

where we now

understand. 

Painting by Josephus Laurentius Dyckmans, 'At the Spinning wheel' c. 1845 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Caution in the wind

It's a good thing that red lights aren't like red flags-

more commonly seen in hindsight.

Color blindness may be more like

selective hearing.

Why are there so many bright

crimson colors kaleidoscoping 

when remembering (him)?

Would those red flags be like;

the ambulance rides, the light coming in

on the sides (gut instinct)

could it be

the blood splatters, bloody hands,

drunken stupors

or the rage, or his cheeks, 

the fire-alarm(s)

the sunsets, the stains

or the business bank account

shiny red as a waxed Macintosh apple

(poisoned)...

Not once

an apology,

not black or white-

It seemed neon 

not calling me beautiful-anymore

disdain, malice, silence

and absence (even when present),

'Vacancy'

Now I can see

the grey area 

are the clouds, air-wind made visible,

attempting to contain-

Believe

they loom, as omens, but do not stop 

or look back while perpetually

moving forward,

breaking and forming again and again.

And all colors 

are prismatic, it is we that assign

such meanings as

to stop or go. 

Painting by Anna Lownes, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

F8

Theoretically

if someone showed me

the Future

and said This or That

We both know we'd go with

less pain

We go on

without knowing which is which

The will 

yours-

the will see-after

which was worse.

This way

we suffer the same fate. 

Painting by Pietro della Vecchia, 'Fortune teller reading the palm of a soldier c. 1626-1678 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.