The Betrayal of August

 

Fire-flower, there is a sweetness in your cruelty
The abused becomes the dispossessed
The martyr becomes a sadist, I saw it though the colours
Of your ember bows, the way you’d turn, night into day

There, we are all rogues, swash-buckling heroes
Where even the victim in me can repose at the feet
Of another abused child of the world
We are not equals in the games of power

I am not a man, you are not a woman
We are only mythologies, projections, illusions
Fire-flower, I taste raspberry hiccups
When I think of you, the fruitful vulnerability

Of your moods, where like a jungle of helplessness
Is born the more severe and thwarted beauty
An artist needs to suffer to possess their genius
Like a naked child wanting to become somebody

Fire-flower, there is no pain in your adornment of betrayal
When you expect the dog to bite, the wound is cute
The nature of narcissism is entirely predictable
In the traits that define our social norms

Even the women are not truly rebels
They already fight too many battles to disobey
Their sense of pride and back-water morality
Art is not like that, it’s wild and ferocious

I am not a lesson, and you are not my teacher
You are a stranger that I know so entirely
It would shock you if you knew, my deep understanding
Of your own pain, mirrored back silently at you.

Masks of Liquid Fire

Lost Inès, fire-bells, storm pixie
How quickly the lightning succumbs to the flesh
And hope is squeezed so silently in our chest
That light, doesn’t flood our vision, but warps us
With a kind of fear and anxiety

Won Inès, there’s no winning in the tragedies
There’s only ambiguity and doubt and fear
The kind of thunder that makes you climb under the bed
Or paint in the closet, or immerse yourself in the unreal

Creator Inès, there’s no season when beauty dies
Because it dies each day and in every person
As we decide to label them something, to limit their light
We kill our dreams to manufacture new ones

Cowardly Inès, there no one left to run home to
Not the night of courage, or the love of art
Not even they can save us, we are just that
Solitary bandits, cats and ambitiously warped

Memory Inès, there aren’t rooms I can go to
Only drawings, a canvas of your success
Where I’m reminded of the days of summer
Where the Eclipse held the potential of everything.

Solar Storm

 

Solar Eclipse, how everything changes when you come
I can feel in my bones the disintegration of the past
I, who love too much and too easily the rebels
The arts; the ruins of my creative drives

Abandoned I lurk in a passage to the future
I have no deep friends, no truth in my own eyes
Only the battle of the brain, this misguided heart
That seeks and wishes for stories I never find

Solar Eclipse, how you burn me to the core
I, who have only been a humble servant of the sun
How many lives mush I endure the madness?
How many misunderstandings in my soul?

Brittle light, do you not know how poor I am?
That I die of loneliness each and every day
Like a poet lost in the light, trapped on Earth
If suicide calls me, then will I be home?

Storm-flowers of the sun, give your dagger looks
I, who have suffered already more than you can imagine
Displaced, weak, vulnerable, cowardly
For a few days of magic I sacrificed already so much

August 21st, I can feel your approach
Like a zombie apocalypse on my Venus degrees
There’s heartache in your absence, but only I would know
I who look up at the sun for her designs

I who felt her swimming in my brain like a leopard
I worshipped at the temple of her Art, like no other
Lost in the bewildered shadows of her aches
I know my time was illegitimate, hours and minutes

Like the spiritual thirst for another season
Another era of the heart, that does not exist in this reality
Troubled soul, why do you run and push and wine
When the truth of our being sets us free

In the cold climax of extreme heat, that only a few
Will ever dare to touch that side of us.