re-claming my voice

The cold is arriving
the colours of my thoughts
change with the leaves
that fall within.

my familiar becomes
a far place in the horizon
where no embraces
lie in wait of the dusk
and no shudder outlines
the evening sky
where there is no more you
to come home to

it is true
time holds no promises
except a virtuous tomorrow
that will always survive
even if i don't

it is true
rain has washed
the apprehension and longing
that has plagued my mind
since that first orgasm
at ten

i move with the oars
inside my flooded heart
trying to salvage the remains
of my voice
now water-soaked and lifeless
passing for happy
with the superficial politeness
this superficial society is made of

a skelton woman
stares back at me
through the mirrors
of my eyes
my words drowning
in this process of
re-claiming
re-stating
re-announcing me

i have been stripped
of everything
except my frame
i must build once again
flesh out my purpose
hang my voice to dry
in the sun
of what could have been
and what was
to perhaps
find what is

i must once again
seduce the muse
till her words, images
and melodies drip into
the space that i must name
must name

the wind is wild tonight
i've shut my eyes
to prevent the dust from
blinding me
i choke
vomitting water
emptying...



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paula obe