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



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