Metis and her Shared Memories

 How I became a nursemaid to misery
Parallels the story
Of my race to find glory
by tearing apart
the first heart I cross
With a fervent dedication
And a Compulsive devotion
I spent my disorder on
Beating and bending
The leanings of uncertainty
while trivially writing the glare of
a writhing frustration
I would speak in
Smiles and sunshine
And weave tales
Of hearts and honey
Of places filled with light people
Who smell of money
if it didn't make my throat feel so funny

I have seen a vision
While wasted in my own discharge
of a planet of chastity
With a barge of solar flares
That lay exchanges across the heavens
And waste the corneas of lesser angels
Leaving ashes of belief
As testimony spilling
Out of smoldering eye sockets.

So bloody and vibrant is my
White whale.
So Reasoned and worn
My albatross
Open from torn
Worn out and prostrate
Is the whore who would
Bear my daughter.

Complicated, generous,
Self destructive and honest
that is the face I’ve picked
It is the lighthouse I have hit
It is the coast I emerge upon
Choked up and free.
Study this walking journal
Written across the backside of my footsteps
And watch for my kind of destruction
the lesson I give
lies in tears and inability
in disappointment and vanity
stubborn survival
and the ultimate truth. . . .

How I became a nursemaid to misery
Parallels the story
Of my race to find glory
by tearing apart
the first heart I cross
With a fervent dedication
And a Compulsive devotion
I spent my disorder on
Beating and bending
The leanings of uncertainty
while trivially writing the glare of
a writhing frustration
I would speak in
Smiles and sunshine
And weave tales
Of hearts and honey
Of places filled with light people
Who smell of money
if it didn't make my throat feel so funny

I have seen a vision
While wasted in my own discharge
of a planet of chastity
With a barge of solar flares
That lay exchanges across the heavens
And waste the corneas of lesser angels
Leaving ashes of belief
As testimony spilling
Out of smoldering eye sockets.



So bloody and vibrant is my
White whale.
So Reasoned and worn
My albatross
Open from torn
Worn out and prostrate
Is the whore who would
Bear my daughter.

Complicated, generous,
Self destructive and honest
that is the face I’ve picked
It is lthe ighthouse I have hit
It is the coast I emerge upon
Choked up and free.
Study this walking journal
Written across the backside of my footsteps
And watch for my kind of destruction
the lesson I give
lies in tears and inability
in disappointment and vanity
stubborn survival
and the ultimate truth. . . .
There is no celebrating
Someone like me.