His bird-like wings soar into inhibition
The poor soul
Containing his spirit in a Mason jar.
A purpose for every run
A destination for every walk.
Head down, chin quivering
Eyes black
Heart bleeding
Is this outcome my fault?
It’s difficult to lecture when I’m in need of a tutor
These high expectations give me rashes
No Mother to nurture
No Father to teach.
Out on the streets
With nothing but each other’s arms to cling to.
I yearn for wisdom,
To give him courage
To face his own reflection,
For the gaunt body staring back
Is his only knowledge of existence.
This is who we are
This is how we will remain
On our own
All alone
Four bare feet
Walking on broken glass.
Wow~ moving and deep!!
ReplyDeleteGood stuff. Your words overpower feeling. I always come away flattened by a sort of confused satisfaction. Keep scribbling. Something will surface from your depth and make people think--change--and be moved.
ReplyDeleteAre you reading "Tell-All"? I checked it out from the library. I noticed he bolds words and spouts off names of writers and historical figures for emphasis. He's too genius for my comprehension. But I've learned to brush it off and keep reading because understanding a Chuck P novel in the beginning is like running before you can walk.
That's quite flattering, thank you. To move one's soul is quit a task, and to stir it is the most I can hope for in this generation. I hope to do much more though.
ReplyDeleteI haven't started yet, but It's the next book on my list. I figure Chuck P to be one of the most powerful cult fiction writers of our time. I feel like almost everything he writes about is connected to a metaphor in some way. His depth is overpowering but very addictive.