Iliad

I live this Iliad.

 

I have traveled mile after senseless mile

 

Just to pace unending halls--become drunk

 

And write wisdom on the wall

 

 

So when you ask me--who are you,

 

My lips will curve on an empty flask

 

Shall I say that I am the sweet moments

 

Or the scars time would not mask?

 

 

I suppose I am a shame

 

a sum total of what you ask

 

That “thing” that’s injured upon countless falls

 

Wandering through callous Texas, and sexless shopping malls

 

 

The traveler, the picture frame, the color

 

That pinned my love upon one sunset--and no other

 

The wrinkled canvas rousing our many sons

 

To ply their paints, negro pencils, and pointless guns

 

 

The midnight passion, the sparks, the fire

 

Lifting moments up--making them dire

 

I am the only thing that makes any sense

 

In this grossly perverted picture-mire

 

 

So say I am the tragedy that forced my life to grow

 

Say I am every single mercy the world had failed to show

 

For in these brown eyes lives all you’d need to know

 

To see plate glass windows from which hope and happy flow