by Rachelle Howe

my touch upon him is brittle.
his mind has carried him across
the poignant borders which line
his stomach, line his insanity.

and these things have come to pass
aside from us, aside from the world.
he peels his eyes back, skin abstruse and fleeting.
he peels his eyes back, foul pleasure hindsight.

his hair is matted, the stairs of his
backdraft potent and spiraling.
arms stretch, he falls. he falls. he falls.
he screams. insight into
the glory of man weathered; he dwells.

i watch from the ceiling.
he speaks to me in verbose delirium,
tone raspy and deceased:

i'm flying, i'm otherwhere, the world is blue.
i'm a ghost, i'm a villain, i'm despised.
i'm a crayon, i'm a child, i'm alone.


Author's Note: for wiley otis in disjointed answer to his "suddenly...salvation!" piece. well written, wiley dear. you struck me with this.

Posted on 09/26/2003
Copyright © 2022 Rachelle Howe

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jason Wardell on 09/26/03 at 08:01 AM

oh wow.. how does one respond to something like this? i'll give it a shot, although i'm admittedly bad at commenting :) imagine sitting in a comfortable computer chair, slightly inebriated on insomnia, just a little hyper on pepsi, and then you read THIS. now you're in my shoes. amazing, rachelle... i'm loving every letter of it.

Posted by Kristine Briese on 09/26/03 at 12:01 PM

Ohhhh, shivery.

Posted by Ginette T Belle on 09/26/03 at 04:19 PM

"he peels his eyes back, skin abstruse and fleeting/he peels his eyes back, foul pleasure hindsight" - those are two kick ass lines...beautifully expressed

Posted by Trisha De Gracia on 09/27/03 at 03:16 AM

My God you're a MACHINEwith words, you've just got piece after piece after piece of poetic goodness! I like this one. I've a bit of a thing for twisted poetry. Fun. anyways, this is rockin'.

Posted by Amanda L Marron on 10/01/03 at 01:36 AM

everybody used all the adjectives i had planned to......so i'll just stick with beautiful write

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