Wasted Nights

 Wasted Nights

Nowadays,

No way will we waste a night.

We can run under the lights,

Blurring,

But never see the dark. It’s something we lost, the dark.

We can always pose for photographs,

Standing in place.

But it’s the unsuspected shots from the side like

Crossfire

That count for most, the flash setting us ablaze from the inside.

I’ll show you what I mean,

And mean it.

Have you ever been startled by your own reflection?

I won’t look into mirrors anymore because the last time I did,

I didn’t connect the refracted representation as anything loose inside me.

I was so sure this degenerating over-achiever,

This high rolling gutter ball was someone else,

That I started the deepest conversation of my life, and didn’t stop until,

Midsentence,

I realized there was no Midway between me and the mirror,

Flat, but still fought over.

Nevertheless, the most profound dimensional philosopher I’ve ever known

Has none to speak of,

Mouthing the words he puts into

My mouth, laughing silently.

But that was last night, and this is tomorrow night’s dream of yesterday.

 

And I was putting up a lightning rod, wiring it down,

But instead of grounding it I secretly ran it through your house, and up to you.

I ground my teeth, and praying in a voice a bit quieter that a whisper,

And louder than a shout,

For lightning to strike twice.

Hoping the pulse might startle you,

The insulting jolt jumping the insulation, breaking through to you,

And startle your pulse into a semblance of calm, speeding you up till you can slow down.

Are you starting to see what I mean?

Well, with your night vision ruined by these night lights,

I can understand your blinded eyes, but try.

Try.

Try with fervor unmatched except by

Pre-Prom Prom queens,

Matted hair lying in the sink and at the base of the comb like discarded jewelry.

Pawned for a bargain price food stamp,

But then missed like legs, like hopes and dreams, like tears.

Because I am crying blood, bleeding tears,

So stab yourself a new tear duct, and tell me about all of your other stab wounds,

Open.

Because, baby, the best way to get your night vision is to shut your eyes.

In these city lights it will be hard, but try anyway.

Have you weathered this night?

Can you see the stars?

Reviews

[hoyt]

Love this poem! To stop feigning our perceptions and to see what is real, is one thing i see in it. It is wonderfully penned and deep. I read it several times and feel pulled in each time, and at a slightly different angle. Very effective write.
Loved the transitional line "But that was last night, and this is tomorrow night's dream of yesterday.". One of my favorite lines i've read anywhere on the WC...or just anywhere period.
Great job!

[cest la vie]

In a word, Remarkable....

Your pieces deeply affect me..