Subdued

Into my quiet eternity, solemn and gravely deficient, came the sounds of children, unaware but for the now in which they moved, the constant motion of their feet, hearts, hands, they chased each other round the field, after the ball, the sounds of their own absoluteness drowning out all others and they of me, unaware

Walt Whitman followed me to the bathroom, the quiet public space with its echo, dirty floors, lack of sanitation and the stench of something old and fecal hanging on the walls, in the air – even here the verses of poetry flowed over me, closing my eyes, my breath shallow to listen

Utterly alone, as in every moment, the knowledge of youthful action – the sounds of which hung just a door’s opening away – the park, and why had I come here today? To see the sun on the grass, to smell the fresh bloom of spring as she opened up her sex to the wind, to see if I could just be or if the words would follow, asking me to speak them, to give feeling form, to birth verses

Press the pen to paper and ink angrily accepts this fate, as do I. Slave to the art, captured by the mind, not the body. How much would I have to give to find the rhythm of my heart, beating furiously? The children run and smile and laugh and play and not a one worries for tomorrow.

Was I ever such a child? No. Sadness, grief, isolation, deprivation, condemnation, degradation found me too soon and even at seven I stood by the field watching. My body tight, my hands covered or in pockets. I yearned to feel as they feel – still I yearn to detangle myself from this spot and move into the space of possibility

Where is my body electric? Where is my ecstatic self? Whitman promises a myriad of physical delights in his words and I follow the piper to the water’s edge but will not touch toe to swim. Salvation comes in the act of loving, in the lustful and delicious passion.

Give me a lover who will crush and destroy the sacred inner world and force me into the body, and beyond where my lonely soul waits with abundant joy. Send me a lover who will force  me open and penetrate to the core of existence- the being, the been, the will be of my ness. Grant me the gifts of surrender and long desired serenity.

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