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Poem

I.

I’ve lost my sense of silence…

I’ve lost my self
So now I hate everything
I want nothing to do with anything
Does this make you sad?

It makes me sad, sure,
And even as I curse even that sadness
I cant not rip it off
I wish to burn my angel wings

The game to me is cruel and dumb now
There is no merriment where there is no place to re-fuel
Buried in the thickets of eyes and ears as I am
Let me be

Retreat and I will learn some other trick
And never ever tell you about it
I will show you, like I do my own tears,
To me in the mirror

But just as my tears that I keep hidden from you
I will never tell you my reason for living
My own intents of love
This I will burn in my own memory

I am tired now…
Of you, world…
I wish not death or darkness
But light and warmth, out of ear shot from all savages.

II.

I was pulling strings of beads--

They were dancing!
I lumbered to a lull,
The lighted eyes raying into me--I shot upwards!
A rebounding blue casket flash,

I slip onto wet pavement as Wendell
Dropped salt spit from his brow,
Patting me tender.
Wendell lived alone.

With the many fresh faces rolling along the lawns
Pattering and clopping against the silent realm of wood,
Piercing my silvering sounds
With shuttering glimpses of the Great Blue and White

There was always a party with Wendell.
Woven in nature’s diagonal rings, as they appear against the sun, 
There is some irate lust for human companionship,
Like mad scientists a-muck about the land,

All on differing timetables, differing desires,
Thoug with a thirst for air like me.

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