spilling words - poem

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

spilling words


words spill out from a faucet turned up too high
cascading around minds insistent upon their own deafness
until the fragile eggshell of ego cracks apart
and they flood in with fleeting imagery and associations
nurtured on hard hot summer sidewalks and traffic smells
and the wailing sirens of the constant apocalypse
breathing their city blasts of feverish air across your face
drenching you in the sweaty dew of their liquid sorrows
and half-chased fantasies coaxed up on neon-light and grime

they spill out over your well ordered lined streets of possibility
threatening in their urgent will to chaos and life
as weeds often rip through carefully laid stone-like pavement
to express earthy desires that cannot forever be contained
under pounding feet of commuters and rolling wheels of countless cars
ephemeral dreams pass by in the thousands as fragmentary clouds
or wisps of suppressed dreams thought long buried
they spill out continuously
giving fetid minds some snapshots of sunlight or stars
in their inadvertent attentions unwelcomed by the televisory populace
of phantoms in grandiose and self-important schemas of plans, accounts,
careers, and quests

they spill out across the secret places in your hearts
those forgotten places of fertilized and latent magic that always threaten
your well defined ego with subversion
you imagine them as angels or devils or gods or powers
but all you can see in your myopic and street narrowed vision
are the fleeting sparks they create as they brush against your resistance

a kind of witchcraft calling up forgotten energies and elements as
a growing nausea in your body
the words try themselves against your inflated imaginary boundaries
and slip through with ease
you try to escape into the fetish-like past-times of zombies
but it has become too late once you hear them
they propagate inside you and start your time-bomb ticking seeking a release
from the growing pressure of the flow and ebb of daily life
ignoring their magic increases their power
they come shaman-like to trick you up with bone-marrow dreams
as hermetic mages conjuring up your deepest occult mysteries
to show you the patterns in which you dance your life
demonstrating to you the fires that burn inside
in which you can find solace and the renewal of springtime
pushing you to banish your fears by eating every demon you find-
horrible upon approach with images of blood spattered altars
and sounds of discordant half-howls
bitter upon chewing with nauseating tastes of the parts of rotting dreamflesh
you have tried to bury in this life
and succulent upon swallowing in the triumph of your desires
twisting you out of the cocoon you have built to keep out the aspects of life
you refuse to shed light on-
a kind of witchcraft never written or spoken about
because of its latent chaotic uncategorizable energy
under everything you do and think

the words spill out in hordes to echo the myriad turns and twists
of ensouled desires spiraling out across the night sky in inexplicable rhythms
cascading around your blinders and slowly spreading the cracks in the sidewalks
of unproven certainty over which you walk
intersecting your probable daily life of constraints and controls
with the brightness of their eternal sacredness
and the darkness of their endless motion
you try to catch them and box them up in neat mental rooms of context
even as they spill through every wall in which they are temporarily caged
the faucet is on too high and you are flooded with the gnosis
that saves you from drowning in them
but only if you listen.

(august 10 2004)

[LMNO]

Remember, kids:  Speed Kills!

[gnimbley]

Ah, poetry.

That's what I'm talking about, kids.