open wounds

These damned lesions haunt me,
With their constant bleeds,
21 years 10 months is what they tell me,
Since the last attack,
the cardiologist operated once,
Said he found a knife lodged in,
This monstrous pain beholden to 21 years of rust,
The doctor said he couldn’t excise it,
Apparently I must do it myself,
Be both surgeon and patient,
But whenever I grasp the scalpel,my arms shake,
The cold table leaved me frozen in cold,
I feel it all,
The anesthetic lulls me no more
This pain I am espoused,
beside me day by day,
Shall bury me,
Because with each day,
I grow progressively weaker,
I wonder how much longer I have
Before these open wounds take me.

the nihilist’s prayer

We are but mirrors,
false reflections of the truth,
sentenced to forever imitate,
what nev’r will be,
Ugly misshapen receptacles of the ideal,
And now we have cracked,
Shattered into hopeless shards,
How then shall we recapture that old brilliance,
the brilliance of the true sun,
Must we wait,
Till Midas arrives,
To paint us a golden portrait,
Of the forgotten disc,
Before the wroughtness,
Takes away our shiny surface
Forever leaving us lost,
to the brilliance.

I shall interrupt this dialogue of old,
reveal treasures unseen,
In thine chest,
unleash wonders,
debunk all these blunders,
Within my monologue,
Uncover enlightenment,
In places oft ignored,
With the tenor of my voice,
For I am the one they call Gold,
Bolder than the blond,
They killed me before I spake,
The past before last,
Now I return,
They shall hear,
You shall all hear,
And if I must,
I shall tear thine oratorial orifice,
for he who hears but listens not


It only ever precipitates,
Never to dissolve,
Even after I have mixed it with my blood,
Inhaled it,
It refuses to dissolve,
this existence of mine,
Continually drowning me instead.
I can’t wait till the fluid fills my lungs.

Mathematics, to her
was a set of new spectacles,
With them fell the old gray world,
bringing forth,
much needed clarity,
certainty and religion,
she saw herself in the axioms,
and the proofs in herself,
devoid of that stuffy arrogance,
she held out her the found searchlight,
And carved out a new world,
one in the right proportions,
an accurate geometric masterpiece,
elementally prime,
even if only in her mind.

Queer little twists and quirks go a long way into the making of an individual.To suppress them all and follow clock and calendar and creed until the individual is lost in  the neutral gray of the host to be less than true to our inheritance….

Life, that gorgeous quality of life, is not accompanied by following another man’s rules. It is true we have the same hungers and the same thirsts, but they are for different things and in different ways and in different seasons….Lay  down your own day, follow it to its noon, your own noon, or you will sit in an outer hall listening to the chimes but never reaching high enough to strike your own.

Virginia Nash