Kickin' Lyme: Poetry

Outside of my life as a blogger and Lyme Disease activist, I am also a writer, with a long history of writing poetry. The poems below were written previous to my diagnosis in 2010, as I have not written poetry in some time. I hope to continue to write poetry once again, eventually, but at the current time I am better able to write prose.

illumina straggling star

I'm a belligerent mess

on a matchstick

highway

demure in

repetition red

choking on the

malcontent shine

of intrusion-

unable to stomach

a 21st century

loss of self.

I've been moored

ruptured at genesis

waning catatonic on

tribulation hymns

gut-side to

anxious daylight

unsatisfied with

dissolute fetishism-

I'm a synergy fiasco

a monopolized

defeat.

mirror me

and wail the

child's song

wear your empty

smile mask and

find respite in the

human illusion-

our kinship found

in catacomb hearts

and immolation eyes.

pantomime

i've become terminal

with blood crags in

the childless hollow

and mother's milk

cannot soothe an

afflicted conscience

disinclined from wanton

virility i am unstrung and

vapidly robotic

a genesis of anxiety and

distance with a smile like

an atom bomb

i am not a miracle but

the monstrosity is mine

to hold

fearless in my

lack of belief-

a mere pantomime

of normality

there is no golden boy

no compassionate savoir

just a scatter-brained

chimera disassembling

the past

repetition red

i am back

waning on

a cycle of

subsidence

ligaments undone-

another petrified

soul-mouth with

misery on her breath

an illumina straggling

star lit up like

perpetual notes

of distress

i am rust on

the gut of plane

sailing into 200 miles

of sea

i am ethical

dislocation

amidst a weary

holocaust-

emblazoned gray

with a monarchy

of ash

i am

i was

always the

same

an amalgam of

human distention

on the firing line of

god

still a boy, dancing.

father

you carry experience

like dead weight

captured in time

by the paranoid

noose

a silent crackpot

fear your only release

in the microcosm

of your fantasy

this is not so

mother like a

jubilant sage

bewitching your

every move

but I see

beneath your

fragility

how you remain

ever-wounded

always the epicenter

of fault

still a boy dancing

with traumatized breakfast

parties and clenched fists

I've longed to know you

but cannot find the heart

to connect

half a century of

beleaguered tenderness

stretched between us

we are strangers-

one of us caught

in ignorance

the other too far gone