Darkly

This poem is about perspectives of each other across a timeline, how the way we define ourselves and others is in constant flux.

Coda:

For now we look through a glass.. .. Autumn holds sway, 1997 Fast. He’s too fast. 5’8” of lean muscles and sinews. He grits his teeth. His smile is wry and folds the flesh of his cheeks. He descends from the outer circle. He strikes in flurries. He dares the inner circle for only moments. Tags me over and over. My reach is longer, but he darts in and out. His legs lean and packed with fluid musculature. 6’2” of layered fat over muscle. He’s a warrior fighting a dragon. Outer circle. Inner circle. His feet find the proper placement on this chessboard. His blows barely penetrate my scales. Stings of pain infuriate me. I struggle to hold my focus. Forearms tight to center. I can take the body shots. He’s trying to open my guard. My throat and solar plexus are his real targets. He has to exhaust my airways. He has to make me breathe flame before I can lower his shield. Or he’s finished. Don’t fly into rage. He’s trying to exhaust you. Arms are burning from hits. Sides are groaning. Wait. Wait for it. I’ve been following. He’s been retreating. I stop. I step back as he dances closer. He loses a step, overextends. I step forward with the blows, turn my hips. His arms fly to guard fast. Too fast. He takes a few in the forearms. I widen my target. He takes them in the shoulders, in the sides. I feel his body giving way beneath the sheer force of my blows. I feel electromagnetic bonds part. I feel voids flooding into gaps of light. He smiles as he retreats. Teeth clenched harder. He’s shaking with pain and rage. He’s hurt but he’s far from done. He came through that on sheer will. Caps are peeled back from both our knuckles. The others are laughing, mostly ignoring us. I get sprayed with a cold beer I hardly notice. Eyes focused on target. He lowers his arms. Feet come to rest. He smiles. I feel the warmth of his light. I smile, too. Alright, old friend. Let’s take a breather. .. Winter breathes into Spring, 2018 (Intermezzo) Tangle and sinews of Root Maze of bone Aqueduct spillways Within Rivers of Watercolors A lone bird Grasps a narrow Branch Pinioned Shoulders Hunched Against the Wind Leaves fall from Brown Branches in Greens and Yellows Nightshade In the thicket Sunlight Shadows On the bark Rust brown waters of Impermanence Mirror The damp and rotten Husks of the Ortega docks In this wavering image Find its truth A broken chain Dangles Like unkempt hair Dark mussel shells Brood Beneath the surface Of the waters .. Spring sprints toward Summer, 2009 I can barely hear her over things crashing, breaking. All I know is that something terrible is happening. I get in my car and head up to the highway. I race south on I95 about 95 miles an hour, zipping around cars. I get to their apartment and I can hear the screaming from the parking lot. His voice is nothing short of monstrous. The door is ajar. I step inside. She’s huddled in a corner in a crouch, facing away, still clutching the phone to her breast. The room has been struck by a hurricane that was my friend. Every possible thing is strewn about, broken, the fish tank is pouring water from a gouge onto the floor. He is moving fast. Impossibly fast. His voice is shattering the air with unintelligible screams. Profanity of every sort. I go around him and straight to her. She startles as if electrocuted as my arm circles her. I lift and she comes to her feet. We walk toward the door, along the opposite wall. He stops, goes rigid. He has noticed me and what is happening. I fix my eyes on hers. She is terrified, her face is half swollen and impossibly purple red. One eye swollen half shut. I tell her in a hard, sober voice. Don’t look at him. Go. Go sit in my car. Go right now. She walks by sheer force toward the door. Rigid as a marionette. He watches her. Looks to me. His eyes are flames that have cooled just a moment to fill with pain. There is betrayal in his looks. His eyes say, You’re with her? He looks like a puppy again, for just a moment. He flies at me. I brace. His blows rain down. I guard myself. He’s so fast. His punches are harder than anything I have experienced from him. I am soaked with pain. I step back, back, back. I hit the wall with such force it cracks and I half sit in a cavity in the drywall as the punches fall endlessly. Guard my solar plexus, guard my face, guard my neck. Don’t strike back. I can take it. .. Winter, 2018 Ropes tether the Tugboat To the wharf Sag at the Center, into Waters, green With algae Sun and Time Stain The whole Spinal Comb Staff of caged Ribs Palatial Conch Apexed Proportionally Dripping shadows of Purple Mummified remains Encased In glass Vitruvian man of Naked musculature Stands out in Bands of Red Cracked skull of Bison Peacock’s plumage at Rest In spiraled Gown Scarab beetles are winged Jewels Jutting spires of white Crystal Colorful Shells Gathered from the Shores of the Sea Placed in delicate Reverie .. Summer wavers in the air, 1994 The heat of the day has driven us like animals to the canal, to enjoy the cool waters. A huge semi tire hangs from a knot of thick rope, tied to a tall and thick tree branch that extends well over the water. Just he and I, spending the day together. He leaps, catches several feet of air, manages to get an arm through and grasp the tire, which catches the momentum of his lunatic flight and soars through the air, begins to twist and turn. He manages to get a leg through before the centrifugal motion throws his torso back. Now, dangling from a leg as the tire swing twists in a tightening circle, gaining momentum. I laugh until I lose my breath. I feel my face turning twenty shades of purple and red. My knees buckle and I fall to them. I suck in a little air to continue this agonizing compulsive laugh as the force finally dislodges him and he falls into the waters with a very audible crash. In a few moments, he bursts through the surface. He looks at me and laughs. I do the same. And so we stay that way for long moments. Time passes. Others arrive. 3 men and two women. The girls and two of the young men are around our age. Dressed in the fashion of the locals here in the dirty south. One man is older. Features, rough and sunburned, tell me he is the father of at least one young man, who resembles him and also sports his carrot top. We are drying our shirts in the sunlight. The redheaded young man approaches. His friend trails behind automatically. He accuses my friend of having jumped him in high school. My friend is calm, but ready, his muscles stand out slightly, his feet parted. The redhead swings, elbow out and wide, no real force, my friend dips his head back half an inch and the fist slides by without connection. He doesn’t even skip a beat as he tells this young man that he doesn’t want any trouble. The redhead isn’t hearing him. They fall to blows. .. Winter, 2018 Yellowed shells Gathered into wire Bins Labeled with Arbitrary tags of Worth, for sale A lone Spider Rests In sublime Obliviousness The spondylus Drags closed it’s Ravined Mouth Rings of Autumnal Red Stripe it’s Shell Sprouting fingers of Calcium, to beat Back the turgid World Glass of Intricate Carvings Rabbit at rest Appears Ready To pounce Geese that could be in Water, atop a bowl Cerulean Vase Holds the Songs Of the Sea .. Winter stands with feet planted in either year, 2005 New Year’s Eve. Three day cocaine binge. Cocaine for breakfast. Cocaine for lunch. Cocaine for dinner. Cocaine every hour in between. Our dealer is making three visits a day. That mother f****r is always happy to see us. I try to burn out the heartbreak. I try to burn out my mind. I try to burn out. I am with my friend. He knows. He understands. Every line, he does with me. Every rail. He insists we smoke pot, “to even things out.” He keeps me occupied. We play video games. We go joy riding. He clutches to the interior of the car as I drive 90 mph down the highway in the middle of the night, smashing my head up and down to Pantera, Sepultura and Soulfly. We drink tequila and listen to Sublime. We sing. We laugh. I cry. He stays by my side. .. Winter, 2018 Flowers of Lush Almond Browns and Onion Purples Mouths Pursed Into kisses of Delicious Invitation Spheres of color Adorned Glass, splashed With perfect Coalescent Artistry Empyrean Blue Ambers of held Breath Sun scorch Yellow Crimson in Folds of Lovers Flushed Flesh Spirals of Endless Light .. Autumn, 1997 The night is washing out into approaching daylight. The others are passed out or have left. We’re the only ones left on our feet. We sing our favorite song, Watching Over Me by Iced Earth. We sing and laugh. It is just the two of us. I see the pilot light click on in his eyes. I tense and then loosen. We smile and we turn in slow circles. So we both endured the night of partying. So it’s just the two of us. He surprises me by staying in close, staying inside, staying low. My blows are falling into the center of his back. I feel the concussions rocking him like bombs. He’s striking at my thighs. The muscles suddenly knot. It is agony. He falls forward. I fall back. My leg is screaming but I stand. He rolls away and stands. He is breathing fire from the agony. Breaths ragged. His eyes are wide, searching, saying, Strong. He’s too strong. I raise and lower the leg, slightly, pressing down. Whatever he accomplished there, it has hurt me, limited my range of motion. I step anyway, side, forward, side, back. I let the agony pass through me and over me. A few deep breaths and he is back on the attack. I can’t believe it, but he goes right back in for the legs. He’s so low that my blows from above are losing force, but still I bring my fists down on his back, solid blows that make his body give beneath them. He is lean, sinew, muscle and bone. His blows are glancing as I step back, turn, angle my knee in, but the hits I am taking to the root of my knee are now agonizing. I see blazes of white light in my vision, which shrinks slightly to a tunnel. I have had enough of this. Rage seizes hold of me. I seize hold of him. Leaning down, around the torso, trapping his right arm, I lift him upside down and with all my might, I squeeze. I feel the bones of his rib cage pressed against my arms, my chest. He sucks in with panic but can barely draw a breath. One arm grabs my leg around, with lunatic strength, pulls a foot right out from under me, we fall back. I maintain my death grip a long moment as he strikes ineffectually and flails arm and legs, before releasing. He rolls aside, to his knees. I do the same. We kneel there, before each other, sucking breaths. The rage ebbs. A few deep breaths and he calms as well. I drop back into a seated position. I smile. He smiles. I laugh. He laughs. He walks on his knees to the couch, leans against it. I lay back. The sun rises. .. Winter, 2018 White sky, green Foliage, reflect off the Chrome Carapace of Grumbling Motorcycles Steel Bones Glass Mirrors Pneumatic Musculature Promethean Spark Blood of Ink 57’ Chevy headlights Shine, eyes Mournful Grill Frowns in Distance of Recollection Of its Prime Old Man Bel Air .. Spring, 2009 His fists are fires that beat at me relentlessly and seem to be coming from everywhere, all sides. I can hardly protect my core, I’m being battered everywhere. Arms up in guard, fists balled, my fear is held in a sphere at the center of my abdomen. I hold it into a confined space. I don’t know how he can continue like this. All I know is I can take it. Eventually, blessedly, he just collapses against me. All the strength goes out of him. My arms are so tired and in so much pain, but I put them around him somehow. I am pain drunk and cannot really feel anything. We both drop to our knees and I hold him. His arms flow around me and his sobs are more frightening than anything yet, coming from the utter core of his being. He is weeping so hard his body is wracked. I summon the strength to squeeze him. Somehow, have to hold him together through this second storm. Moments stretch into an ocean of time. First in the firestorm, now in this shattered ruin, beset by his tornadic sobs. Stinking water from the fish tank is everywhere. Eventually, a calm comes over him. He just seems tired now. Numb and tired. I am feeling that, too. He tells me that she had cheated on him. When he found out, he broke up with her. Upon returning today to gather his things, she had told him that she was pregnant. Was pregnant. She told him not to leave her, to forgive her, or he would be sorry. She had an abortion. She aborted their child. When she had said something to the effect of, Well, it might have been his child, that was when he lost it. I go outside as he starts to sort of listlessly move things around, gathering the desolation of their home against the walls, into piles. She’s not in the car. She’s not answering her phone. It would be a long time before either of us saw her again. .. Winter, 2018 P40 Silver Blue Flew in 42 Hull Shining like the Sky Gleaming like Diamonds On the Tarmac, which has faded To gray from Black Faded into Dusk Talismans of bone and Jade, carved into Ferocious Faces, palms Pressed in Postured Peace Scaled fish Mouth offering Coin, eyes of Marbled Obliviousness .. Summer, 1994 My friend gets inside, close, where his opponent’s wild swings deflect harmlessly off his shoulders and the sides of his head. The redhead’s compatriot jumps on my friend’s back. The older man, whom I assume is the young man’s father, peels him off like a tick, turns him round and fixes him with a stern gaze, saying, One on one. That’s how we fight. He tears himself loose, steps back saying as he turns to me, Fine, then I’ll take fat a*s here. He steps up and turns to the side as he lets fly a right. I turn to my left and it glides by. Step forward, into him with my strikes, which hammer his head left and right, reminiscent of a speed bag, which I had never struck, before this moment. I must’ve hit him half a dozen times but I am pretty sure he was done by punch number three or four. Guy just wasn’t guarding himself, hadn’t steeled and somewhat loosed himself, wasn’t ready. I almost walk over him as he drops. My friend has beaten his quarry straight backwards, hand on his shirt, right fist just hammering a nail into his face, which is now redder than his head and resembles a pizza. Guy falls straight back into the canal and then, in a moment I will never forget and always hold in great respect, he stops, waits as the redhead rights himself and then extends a hand, helping him to exit the water. Redhead spits to the side, spits again, he’s full of blood but he nods his head up and down. He’s saying, Alright, alright. It’s over. My friend has no argument with this, as he had none in the first place. Just went to work because he had to. Mr jump on his back, gonna take fat a*s is not looking terribly coherent so I don’t offer to help him up. I just get in the car and start it up. My friend comes round the passenger side and gets in. He twirls his finger in the air, the way he always signals, Let’s bounce. And bounce, we do. .. Winter, 2018 Tulips ignite In silken Fires of Illumination Fountainheads of Perfectly Coalesced Colors Phalaenopsis Wings of shadowed Gold, central Buds Lusting Lips of Cherry Bromeliad In curly Cues Of bursting Canvas Manifesting God .. Winter, 2005 I am standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Every cell in my body is convulsing, but somehow I am still standing. Still looking myself in the face. I do not recognize myself. I do not know who is looking back at me. He knocks. I do not answer. He calls for me. I do not answer. He tries the doorknob. Again, more forcefully. Two kicks and it just gives in. The frame strikes me in the back. I barely notice. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I am convulsing from head to toe. He is hanging on. His arms are strong, fastened about me. We stand there, like that. In time. I calm. .. Proem: ..But now, face to face .. Darkly By Daniel Christensen Writing as The Fire Elemental

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there." Rumi

Copyright © 2018 by Daniel Christensen 

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Author's Note

My writes tend to be long and my opinion on length is, if you enjoy the content, get drawn into it, then the length should not be an issue. If it is, my apologies. I mix poetry and prose and do not write within established guidelines.