Sunday, October 22, 2006

The Man Who Overdosed on Creativity

He saw the chasm between himself and words
placed on the horizon’s lips in a pick out meanings disarray of kisses.

It was love—dry love heaved out in a torrent of stairwells,
cafĂ©’s, clandestine meetings between the sheets of King and Queen Streets.

It was separation and desperation during the moments of intense heat
when flash fires burned away all flesh to leave skeletons dangling
from the remnants of indecisions and impulsive actions.

It was taking up residence on the edge of a road leading into the impossible
and it was the impossible of keeping one foot balanced on the world
and the other balanced on all the ways in which the world was not.

There was only one opportunity to jump in either direction.

2 comments:

Aisha said...

Now I think I know where this one comes from :)
Prolific, with excellent stuff-- oyu wont need a single old poem in that chapbook!

:-0

H. W. Alexy said...

Hello Aisha,

Yeah, a bit autobiographical, this one :).

I don't know, I still have my own favourites of what I've written and they're not always the newest.

We'll see.

Helm.