bashful astroknotsA Poem by frankie sanchez
Put me in a Captain America suit and no one would take me seriously.
Put me in a Sir Mike Mitchell painting and you might take me home, you might even join my team. Put me in a rocket and I’m not just any rocket man, I’m some boy on the internet’s cover of Maynard James Keenan’s cover of Elton John’s Rocket Man. What I’m trying to say is- you don’t know me yet. You left me hangin’ like a giant helium balloon at the Macy’s Gray Parade, when I tried to say good bye, and I choked, penciled our farewell into my itinerary, knowing that there’s a whole lot of triumph residing in my procrastination. It’s just that if you gave your trust fall to my gravity you’d bear witness to my second wind, you’d see, there’s a few things I’m trying to make right. I promise to no longer wear my indecision like trees wear branches, pointing them away from the source. I promise to stop trying to find the wrong side of forgiveness. I promise to finish what I started, no more excuses. I promise, I know there is no ghost where the light is warm, I’ll stop looking for things that aren’t there. I promise I won’t split at the fork in the road, only to look back and wonder what it’s like on the other side of assumption. Maybe the fork in the road is a steak knife. Maybe the road knows what’s at stake. Maybe the stake needs to be driven- into the ground. I promise I won’t nail myself to the past. Parade float and pallbearer alike know that the city doesn’t cater to left hand turns. So, I’ll follow the right path. I’m just a bashful astronaut too caught up in my own gravitational pull to recognize that the space between us is directly related to the trajectory of my sarcasm. I promise I’m not too caught up in space to recognize that people tend to be like the ghosts in Mario Brothers. When you pay attention they freeze up. When you ignore them they want to get closer. In the pale light of honesty, we’re all clothed in the same transparency. We’re all different shades of the same hue, man. I promise to recognize a painting when I see one, looks like we’re getting tangled in our finger paints, like bashful astronauts spreading smear campaigns, we use oil rigs and watercolors to paint the space and then tell ourselves that the sky is an illusion. The Moon is a desert. God is a projection. Show me the light. I promise to listen intently to every cloud that passes from your lungs. I promise to dance with the thunder in your ribcage. And after the eye of my storm passes, if you still wanna say good bye I promise to drink the ice in your whisper- even though I asked for it neat. Our circumference is divisible. I know why Earth keeps Moon close. I know why Moon keeps her distance. They see each other in a different light. Neither one knowing how to break the cycle. It was an astronaut who had to tell Moon, “You are not, nor should you ever be, the resulting equivalent of someone else’s expectations. Stop assuming and let go.” But the only guys sent to the moon were scientists, they were fathers, not poets or painters, therefore it’s doubtful that Moon got the message. So it’s my job to tell you- you didn’t break my heart, you gave it purpose. If I’m to believe in an afterlife than I’m gonna need proof that I did something positive with this one. So please, don’t be so hard on yourself, carry yourself like the Sistine Chapel because I made my best impressions in your cathedral and your spine is a series of pillars so know where your ceiling is and live up to it because this now here is all we have- Look. You don’t know me yet. If you did, you’d know that I don’t want to reign like the weatherman, I want to rain, like the weather, man. I’m sky-lit, universe-as-a-backdrop, in flight, open like a parachute, eyes wide like backwards telescopes, I promise from the pit of my orchestra section, from the belly of my wind instrument, I’m never gonna take the ground for granted, I’m anchored to a heavy heart, from which I promise, if you’re there when I land I’m gonna hold you- like the sky holds everything. © 2011 frankie sanchezFeatured Review
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Added on April 5, 2011Last Updated on April 5, 2011 Tags: bashful, astroknots, astronauts, macy gray, parade, spoken word, philosophy, words, reading, poems, simply, religion, science, space, sarcasm, captain america, mike mitchell, maynard james keenan Authorfrankie sanchezLos Angeles, CAAboutI don't ever wanna be a lost boy. I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story with morals and purpose, I wanna have meaning. more..Writing
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