Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Hole In The Head

Capana, Iowa City, 6-28-2011 12:31, Listening to Selena Gomez

Must write. Let them kill me. Let them put me in prison. It is prison to be without it. It is like being inside a drum when the noise gets so loud that it destroys what little sense is left in my head. I breathe in the perfume of a thousand women that have moved in out of these doors. My fingers quiver. Missed my beta blocker. Truly am insane. Let that go as well. Let it go. Let it all be gone but leave me the words.

Silly talking not needed. Let's go. Let's dance. Skin to skin. Lips on hips. Tongue caressing with searing heat.

Join it. Do it. Feel it. Can you turn back again to a place you once lived it? Can you find where you lost it in the cold and turn back up the heat? I hope it can happen. Perhaps, I can kindle it here and now and it will reach the places that need it.

Who cares if there is a response? In the end, aren't most of us caught in the whiplash of the shadows that once were our love. They will have to do it seems. They will not be one I want, but they will warm me for a time in the night. In the morning, the words will come again. I will not lose them. How could I? Without them, I cannot feel anything at all.

I will learn the blues. I will learn the art. I can do these things. They are easy. They are all things that once I knew. Things that became more alive because of you. They will be poorer if you cannot be here, but, I do know how to breathe. You are inside me. With me forever. How many times must I weep for you to know this? You have a dilemma. I have a broken heart. Yours may be analyzed. Mine cannot heal.

End of me? Maybe. End of my life, perhaps.

Once a zombie. Now awake. But where are you?

Massages with tender touch, chocolate daisies and, remembered birthdays, are they ever enough? Does love that lives on these ever last? I truly do not know.

I would run to romantic love if I could find it. Its comfort and peace. But there is a hole in my head, a literal physical fracture, that has lost the ability to respond to ideas of heart, love and loyalty that seem to be accessible to most other people. A modern day mutation of Phineas Gage, this horse is so tired, it can barely walk. But it does that much at least, in the hope that it may find a stall somewhere.

Listening to these songs brings no physical healing to the brain. Emotions run where they will. It seems I cannot find a way to move my feeling to a place that is helpful to anyone. So. Rest from the music for now.

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