Last Night

© 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for joining me last night
To try to resolve a brain pain
Which wouldn’t go away –
Making my heart beat too fast;
My breath constrict;
My body sweat gobs from voices and visions of
Felines hung from beams –
Flashlights blinding me –
Banging intrusions.

Thank you for doing more than most.
I don’t know the codes
Of hidden meanings and manipulations.
It took time to see I was
In a bathroom with a woman
Wanting to strip search me via odd questions –
Enlivening, without explanation,
All the scary things
Inside me provoking
Assaults from within.

I write clear of code,
Or so deeply encoded no one knows
What I’m saying, conveying.
Encoded so deep in metaphor or analogy
Literally trained or no,
None know the true inspiration –
Perhaps not even the intent.
Without pitch or tone –
Punctuated lines –
Feelings are their own.

Perhaps this is why wordless melodies
Calm and soothe me.
Truest to the form of unresolved metaphor,
Free to interpret as it pleases me.
Compositions as relevant as I choose,
Unless composed with a need
To title for the unaware,
Selfish attachment.
Veiled literacy
For people like me.

There is good reason for me to miss coded speech –
Feelings beat out of me
Flat as a pancake ‘til I am twenty-something –
When therapeutic codes release them like a dike broken –
Rushing forth with great force and intensity
Beyond any one person’s control.
See my metaphor for the angst of emotions?
Converting evil
Voices to ones of
Companionship –

Then a cacophony of overwhelming expressions.
Directing me, instead of directed by me,
To conduct the most sordid of abuses.
I do not dare act on them –
Prefer death to harm, yet death itself a harm
Forbidding me to act.
I toss and turn violently through life
Struggling always with
Vicious, Persistent
Terrible voices.

Finally the dike empties –
Recalibrates equilibrium –
Finds smoother waters releasing
Voices and visions too powerful.
Explainable by therapists and Latinists –
Coded speech to me, like Greek –
I hear the singing of
Italian Saints –
Irish fairies, sprites –
Wailing Wall prayers.

A miracle freeing me to be me –
Learning for the first time
Rules of communal speaking,
A child observing; catching on –
Forty years behind,
Missing hawks circling above not knowing to look up –
Snakes in the pit, not aware enough to look down –
Falling into traps –
Mysterious words
Mystify me still.

I ask the Gods of Gods, “Why be I the writer?”
Communicator without understanding
Except by hand-held training – water is sexual.
Simplest of codifications beyond me –
Years to learn ‘weather’ speak.
Why must I miss she wants to strip search me –
Ensure my safety and hers from
Rejuvenated
Demonic voices;
Nightmare imagery.

Hours later I see it –
Root cause of spontaneous combustion.
Bridges beneath me crumbling –
Which you came to support –
They could not stand the weight of my inexperience
In the language of codes.
My efforts to
Speak clearly, simply,
Wholly offending
Strangers helping me.