I sit here thinking of ideas to write, in this chair
with thread-woven floral designs and a cushion
far too soft
for a determined poet -

But this night will end just as all the others
have, producing no fruitful words
of either beauty
nor vanity.

This process has become another spit of tar,
thick and charcoal black,
crushed into the eyes of tonight's muses.
I will drift, drift deep into another evening of
tired loneliness and the incessant weight of
the cold.

My head sinks with the grief of the unwritten,
amnesias from past lives trying to break
into memory,
old forgotten souls,
new forgotten goals.

These words are but meaningless scribbles
on lined paper - the lamp, missing its shade,
casts its bright enlightenment against
my notebook and pen, while my hand casts
a slant horizon shadow across the galaxies
buried in the ink.

I shall not want. God save me.
God save the word.

The ink is my sword, the ink is my shield,
faster than the whip tips driving the mustangs
toward Danger Trail, stinging the wind
and finding the very roots of being (non-being).

A warning, dear traveler: the stories you have heard
are true.
Fear and respect
my defenses, for no blind mercy will be given
and ignorance will certainly not come
to you as bliss.

This is no mere folklore...
Salvation and damnation possible with the twists
of language, with the slight black mark of the pen?

Perhaps success will show tonight.

Here, fool! My words have been
destroying you,
and you didn't even know.

12/24/2008

Author's Note: Yes, can you believe it? A brand-new, previously unreleased re-written piece. My first fresh piece in well over a year... Now Available as a recorded Spoken Poetry Clip from my podcast at http://cmbauer.podOmatic.com/ and also available exclusively with the featured poem here on Pathetic:

Posted on 12/24/2008
Copyright © 2010 CM Bauer