poetry, trails of thought

“And how was I so bad you needed to abuse me?”

 

You know that moment when everything falls into place?

Well, that – but not quite.  Here I get the feeling

everything just falls into

some space that spaces out like mad magic mush-

room or habit-

ated environments that nudge and provoke our

somn-

ambulance in advance of curious reaction.

Though not chemical any more: I have lost the

ability to feel and enjoy the life I wrote about

in love these past few months.

All that is left is the husk of a man who once smelt

the musk of a woman.

And how was I so bad you needed to control me?

And how was I so bad you needed to use me?

And how was I so bad you needed to abuse me?

And how was I so bold you had to make me old?

And how was I so unreasoned you felt your every

excuse to underline my tying down to stump and

hump once clearly promised, then never delivered?

And did I serve for all of you now, not just the woman

I married so innocently, as warning of futures unseen by

most – or more as a potential manual of action?

Or was I host for more evil motives?

Or did you imagine I was?

And so then was my skill and aptitude and

ability ground down by you all, not just the

woman I married, to prevent me from telling the

things that I saw to a world which would then

have to believe what I sensed was going to

happen so early before

anyone else saw it happen?

And did you believe and use me as warning –

or did I become, corrupted, a manual?

And did you believe and use me to protect

yourselves freely – at the expense of my lifetime

of joy, kindness and love?

And was this the cost of being different from you?

And was this the price you extracted from me?

And did I pay all of this without knowing the bill?

And then all these names you called me

all

over

the years –

Bill of course, naturally; but Phil, Will and Mel

as well – were they just there to ensure I never

was able to form a clear sense of myself:

an identity that might have allowed me to rise

above the violence to my person you all felt you

needed to commit?  An identity at last: something which

meant I was sent down to this rock to be someone like

me: to be I, me, myself instead of the warning or instruction

manual you made of me all this time for your own

bloodied purpose!

And so from wifely suspicion to stately deconstruction, the life

I’ve loved begins to dis

integrate into parts that fall not into place but into that

space that spaces us right out of all of our minds, and leads me to

real-

eyes,

childlike as ever,

how everyone used me, in some way or

other, along the awful {[line}s] which now {[end]s} … right here!

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