Bull Horned Bear of Reason

Bull Horned Bear of Reason

I want answers, solutions to the old problems of thighs & ideas, this sack of issues I carry in a coat neither too big nor too warm.
This is the nightmare & soon in new arms I will wake, scars washed away by bleeding
I am not afraid of you, unless you are the sea.

The screaming, like a dying martyr or the history of beginning inspires me.
I will send messages in the dust & wind, like pockets of magic, I will remain.

It was no more than a ghostly contact. I was unprepared for this blow; it struck beneath armor.
With a sharp knife & a clear conscience I must go, & handsomely wins the day.

I have misunderstood the chain of command, called her truck her keel

I have only a sharp blade & a sharper wit.

I will not stay, not for the now, not until then, not for the past, & not for the pain.

I tried to listen to those wanting to be heard. I tried to speak for the mute. I tried to open the eyes of those who refused to see.
On the day I visited the tree I used to play with, it was smaller than I remember.
The sea got larger & I am not as brave as I used to be.

I was raised by shifting eyes & sharp tongues, held by arms that shunned advice, spitting at scripture of scientific religion & sat with dreams that had been swept away leaving puddles of spit collecting on their lips,
I put my quiet foot forward, & my eye still flinches from the blows of your lessons.
I still chew on the side that hurts.
In a moment I realize I’ve become kind & I know this existence is a prolonged fall to Hell where I hope to reap the rewards of my eternal resistance.
Time has mitigated my mad proposal & aggravated my feelings of frustration.
Where is the leather cover, the brass clasp, and the old prejudices that drove us into little shops, searching for mystery?
If I keep peace, will I still be eager to explore & if I no longer hate, will I have nothing to discover?

I pad around my cell, laughing away the time
Like stale wine & vigorously spent sweat, an engine gone cold & silent past the noise of growth.
Put down your pen, close the book – I will draw my own conclusions.
Listen like a thrown bulb, weeks from still pitching pieces at your feet.
I will ever be cloaked from you, guarding my secrets buried in fields & dumpsters, the stories that burn in this beastly interpretation of the situation.
A whisper of nightshade, ghost to my phantom, a single flower on a rape of thorns.
I drink deeply & forget the color of your eyes,
I honor the dark outlaw, the wolverine in my soul with snap & snarl.
I place my hand on my breast to remind you of the gift you wanted, the gift you but dropped at the spark.

The girl who wrote in the margins introduced us, with a worried look & a whipping at words of warning on deaf ears, promises she can’t keep
Deaths & weddings, without a star to follow, innocent sincerity exchanged from lip to lip now dead in unoriginal conquest & her honesty, however real, drives me home