How could I
even begin to describe
who we are
on the inside?
There’s one
inside another,
inside another
and so on.
Called to give the prisoners a lecture.
Words distilled down into a tincture.
Secret of the universe
scrawled on the inside
of an eggshell,
but what the hell.
They’re on the inside of my skull,
got to get them out;
these demons,
these beings
of ever description.
Faster than I can tangle,
I unravel.
So far I’ve come around
without missing
every course correction.
This is just the new way,
the new way,
of getting into
the thick and thin
of my inner consciousness
and when I am dead and gone,
they can cut open my head
and they’ll find
claw marks on the inside
where I was trying to get out.
Once again,
here we go.
The description always makes it seem so
dark and intrusive,
but it’s who we are
on the inside
when we’re
burdened with affinity
for this world
and life
and living.
Seeking to experience
an escape;
locked in contradiction.
Describing Heaven
from Hell;
everything takes on a different hue.
Tell you about me;
I might as well
describe the sky to you.
It’s blue.
HG – 2017
