[Belated Christmas present for Miss Voodoo Pixie. Found Poem. Source text: Rue Morgue Magazine Issue 151, Letter from the Editor ‘Note from the UnderGround’.]
No Ground
Make me feel good
precisely, watching
put me in that wonderful place
boast ambitious characters, to burn
absurdly happy endings –
a refuge
from the realities of adulthood. It’s your old tree fort.
My happiest time was in the theatre, the perfect escape
during a particularly rough
everything
family black cloud, talent lost
three collapsed months
another bled to death;
terrifyingly close
suffered a heart at the wheel
with his foot a red light.
(We never revived him.)
An overwhelming year, hours we tackle
the medicinal properties of watching a man explode
is more than horror, anything will accuse us
of inviting darkness in
know that we’re sound
our fears fit
they just help us get through the night
It’s a habit crushing worry. An overcoming.
It’s the Girl on a roof trying to save the world.
Favour a return to the status of enough
defeat a god, a crowd
a kiss
instead of returning things, carry that joy
fears die along the way
name the demon real life
fight a nightmare, show us there is no threat
make us forget both forms exist– stand shoulder to shoulder
and keep the things that haunt you.
CarnivalDark 