I can feel the bones of so many
places I’ve been
So many ghosts
I’ve seen
Whispers
heard on a distant shore, or breeze
I find myself always
yearning for the ancient history
so far away, a time I never knew
One I’ll
Never
Live.

I’m an idealist at heart but
we have to attend to the matters
of the flesh that are
right
in front of us.

Why do I let myself slink
in the dark corners
Afraid to step out
into the limelight
as though I we’re some kind of vampire
allergic to the sun.
It’s not going to get better until
I lift my voice up to the sky and
drum loud –
like I were some sort
Of revolutionary.
Can’t you hear me,
Hear my heart
beat.

I’ve become afraid to
even touch the ground
with the paranoia
in the background eating
toward my subconscious.
“Don’t let them break you down,”
I tell myself.
I try to turn it all off
and shut out the fear, and
not fall into the dark
recesses of our culture
allergic to reality.

Is it ever what we perceive it to be
Or what we need it to be
to help ourselves sleep at night
The virtue of freedom
lost to second place
out of time
for a safety that
never comes
except in
death.

Anarchism is praxis
In action
In the heart
Everything else
Falls silent.

Written: 09/19/2021