feedback jeder art Lazarus

[linger_on]

 

I hear Bowie flying off like a bluebird,

forever vogelfrei, leaves rustling 

as the wind sighs heavily one last time.

 

Torn socks and boxers holding on in the corner

frantically surrounded by scribbly notes and dim oil canvases,

a wooden tribal mask and corporate contact cards:

magical portals to your past sentenced to dust

by the deep grim sea around, the bridges all out of reach.

Unaccessible memories like cement slowly encasing my feet, 

the water lulling continuously ahead

as I wait - motionless - for the mafioso to push

 

but he never does

and the saxophone gives its last somber hurrah

and the madman stops singing

and I croak and cry and scream and stomp deliriously

shattering the case into a thousand dazzling pieces,

a blazen dance of anguish; the fire exit in reach,

the house might burn

but was I ever at home? 

ashen ground like my freed feet, destruction

leading to liberation and creation;

the bridge now just a step ahead and

the still subjugation of the moment beaten:

a history to be conquered 

and a future to be taken.

 

David you made it

and so did you Papa

and so will I

but until then

I’ll swim and burn and live to die.