• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 12
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This Moment Of Goodbye

Goodbye weighs heavy,
forever heavy as those distant, mysterious,
those death mist-shrouded mountains
that constantly curse this paralyzing, hungry Earth;
hurl profanities at dreaming, silken skies;
and holler lewdly at every manipulative, ill-fated star
blinking through the heavens.
It screeches banshee loud –
loud as their obscene, accusatory, their envious peaks.

Fine, fierce memories soon forgotten
leave me shaken – leaf-like shivering –
at the edge of some nameless abyss,
pearlescent droplet after pearlescent droplet
falling gently, unremorsefully,
onto creaking, secretive vertebrae;
seeping, unencumbered, into stained, sullied long bones;
floating conspiratorially
throughout marrow deep;
slowly bleeding out
into possessive, inconsiderate lungs;
arguing within cold, weeping plasma;
licking softly, eagerly, starvingly
at sobbing, grieving, electrified nuclei;
sneaking stealthily,
unseen, nefarious
past weary, wary, exhausted, and paranoid
obsessive compulsions


This Moment Of Goodbye

to escape riotously beyond
this eternally untrusting blood-brain barrier,
tightly adhering themselves –
haunted and unforgiving –
to resistant, timeless ganglia
and invariably cruel, perpetually misfiring synapses,
while I ferociously gasp my own Psalm-like blasphemies.

They say forgiveness is the key,
but I’ve no desire to unlock Pandora’s box again,
to release my cruelty and malice
on our unsuspecting, fragile universe divine,
instinctively knowing
somewhere deep, somewhere reptilian
that it can’t take it again –  
no, not this time.
So, I’ve no desire, no want, no yearning, no yen, no will
to let loose, set free
this pent-up rage,
this suppressed fury,
the lot of it –
every imaginary atomic ounce and poetic penny of it –
blazing, vengeful brimstone, fiery hot
on this and every future Judgment Day,
a phoenix risen
from the tangled, labyrinthine bowels of hell
demandingly presenting a hideously thorny crown
I dare not don.


This Moment Of Goodbye

They say anger
is like drinking poison
and expecting your enemy to die,
but this one hundred forty proof frenzy and fervor
replaces that preciously intangible soul I left hidden –
forsaken –
in the needled alcove under that old pine’s boughs,
destiny throbbing, reverberating violently,
wailing from some enigmatic place
that modern medicine and ecology
cannot name, categorize, control, heal, profit from.
Yet, I need this venom
even more than the fickle rain.

They say don’t look back in anger,
so I never look back,
not on gloriously sinful joys,
not on agonizingly debilitating hurt.

Yes, they say many things –
things, things, things
that I stubbornly ignore.

Now, I cannot look ahead,
stripped, jarringly, of my prophetic ability
to see light years into the future
that once sparkled before my rusty eyes.
I’m cornered – trapped –
in the unrelenting limbo


This Moment Of Goodbye

of this very moment,
singular and graceless,
wondering and wandering,
soul aflame, alight, afire,
plotting the infinite possibilities
of what exactly this moment –
the one right here, right now,
this innocent, this corrupt moment –
might soon become,
pondering dismal and dismissive,
depressing, beautiful, and variegated
time immortal.

I slowly, reluctantly recall
singing narcissistic reflections
hoarsely, throatily to discern
what exactly might one day become
of this very moment,
sieging under all this weight,
this weight,
this weight,
of goodbye.