Friday, May 22, 2009
Burn It Twice
Kill a bird, then two, with a stone, a rock, or even a pebble. Cover the cadaver with tricks of disappearence; once you see it and now it is gone. The times are passing, here, here, gone. In a flash, in a strike of magic, with swift hand movement, the slight of hand, look here while I do this with the free hand, showing you illusions. I am only playing a game of entertainment. I am only keeping you here, dancing with tap-shoes with raining scalp and burning legs. For you to stay. Keep coming back. And to satisfy.
This show ends and begins with you. With magic on one side, as I keep you thrilled and wanting more, I feed you my heart on the other side, telling you it is the wing of bird, the shell of fruits, and the texture is only a technique of masking the substance. It is after the show, when you come find me in the backroom, with hair down, bowtie loose, and buttons undone you ask the secret of my tricks. To others I say a magician never reveals his or her tricks, for the magic would be gone; replaced with the salt of everyday rationale. But to her, I say, everything, in the greatest detail; accounting each stroke of the brush. I confess all until her eyes form slow lakes and ponds, and there is lost deep inside her. I took something away from her. And the blame is not in the curious, but in the holder of the truth.
Guilt is when I don't hold regret, I don't back down, and be tamed by my actions in remorse. Guilt is having no other way. At the end of the day, I can rest, I can sleep; knowing that I no longer lie each time I see you; knowing something you don't. Something you should know. Something I can't escape for it is beyond me. And as my words fly passed your ears, I know by your confusion they are also beyond you.
For each stone to be thrown. A bird must fall, for you to know the truth. To sink, to fall, as I fall apart.