Exercise 1

Behind wire-rimmed glasses lies a panoramic view
of a wheat field under a cloudless, smog-less sky
wrapped concentrically about a plum-pit pupil
which carries not but an open, honest eye.

Behind wire-rimmed glasses lies a gentle disposition;
a convicted, unrepentant traitor to a past it's long been rid.
Choosing now a force and power lying in subtle impositions,
any misgivings, or trespassings, I'd much easier forgive.

Behind wire-rimmed glasses lies patience, but eagerness, too,
with its inquisitions of myself, and its absorptions of my remarks
A stillness somehow opens these eyes wide and puppets their moves,
and his voice is sweeter than a choir of blue jays and or of larks.

Behind wire-rimmed glasses lie several puzzles for me to solve,
Secrets age-old, tried, and very-much true,
But the same question still causes all my hope to dissolve,
I cannot love him, and thus, his eyes are mine to lose.

Rediscovering Mourning

I thought I was done crying.
These past few days I’ve done nothing but
Move and work. Like a Machine, a God-
Less man, who cared not for formalities,
Yet showed mercy at a discretion entirely my own.

I thought I was done noticing.
The slightly stunned faces of those who
Had scorned me. Their surprise at my even-
Ness of tone, the subtlety of Wrath that
Had satisfied me, even without initial impact.

I was sure I was done caring.
The haunted words and prodding details that
Governed my life. I had pushed them aside and
Could live free, it occurs now that I had
Only tried to make due with what was left.

I was convinced I was succeeding.
The delusions of Love that permeated
Every human being. I alone sought to
Dispel my “need” for it. Love not man, instead
Love no one and live for myself.

I was certain I was done convulsing.
That the neuroticism was, or should have been,
Gone forever. That I had conquered, survived,
And that my work would continue. Forlorn is
The Fag that knows God and knows himself.

There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
He will be robbed of joy, even in his happiest of occasions.
He will be plagued by law and depression.
And as he fails, each time he fails,
He will regress, I will regress.

I thought I knew pain. Obviously
 not well enough, For
I dared to seek to love again.