Driver's ed
August 24, 2000
I can barely see the road,
my windshield thick
with Vaseline visibility.
Smeared and distorted,
the world comes into view in black shapes,
large and imposing,
then flashing in my rear-view
mirror before dissolving into
the subsequent void I leave in my wake.
I might fear it all,
had I not passed through its darkness
only seconds before.
That is behind me now,
and not for me to think of.
The road is sleek tonight,
as I travel on the back of
this rain-slicked serpent,
dancing with it as it undulates
on the terrain with fierce intensity.
Its curvaceous length
is seemingly without end.
I bend to its will, for I have no choice
but to go where it is taking me.
Who knows who have gone before me,
what souls have loved
this serpent far too long,
forgetting the destination in an instant.
It is a natural skin to slip into,
letting the musty steam envelope you,
sharing truth upon truth
before returning you safely to the path
until you discover you
no longer want to get there.
Though this journey seems
like countless others I've endured,
it is somehow different.
I am reaching out and feeling my way along--
fingers splayed, thought delayed,
waiting for the shoe to fall--
for my eyes are useless.
I'm seeing with my soul,
exploring the vastness that
threatens to engulf
but only wishes to embrace me.
I see it all for the first time
yet I am but a traveler,
aborting my destination
in favor of the drive.
My hand, ghostly white
in the moon's light,
trailing down the ivory
bones of a Baby Grand.
"I wish to know your secrets," I whisper,
"down to the very heart of you.
Make me beautiful.
You are knowledge to me.
Show me this world and
how I should proceed:"
Or if I should recede,
having known too much already.
"I want to be revered and feared.
Make me a reckoning--breathe into me
the very breath of divinity:"
So that I might live forever
in the minds of others.
Make me a song,
so that I might be heard--
if only once.
No reply, of course, only pallid cool
under the pads of my fingers.
How I wish to linger
in its wake, but to do so
would be to cease living,
for there is no muse to visit.
There are no more gifts for me.
So I leave the shrine as I entered it,
Fearfully aware, enlightened,
but searching for another truth;
something easier to swallow.
I know as I have always known
that the power is within me,
glowing, having grown
with an all-consuming radiance--
[Like Dorothy Gale, "I had it all along."]
It's just so hard to live with.
I walk in the park today
and pass some things I dare not say
I'll see again, for I know not when
another day will bend to greet me
as this one has, for I'm not coming
out of the cocoon but going in.
This is my final walk before darkness falls,
so I'm taking in everything
--big ones, small ones, thin and tall.
I want them all
burned within my sight--memories
to comfort me through the night.
For it is fast approaching,
doom encroaching
like the monsters under the bed
your mommy said were in your head
--but you knew better.
Especially since you've become one.
So, settling on a bench,
I drink the landscape, inch by inch...
loving each and everyone one of you
Before I rise and say adieu.
Come with me, take my hand
as I go forth into that land
of greater worth:
that secret place inside myself.
Where it's all or nothing,
old and new,
black and blue
by my own hand.
For I've been changing now
for quite some time,
growing, building--
and I want you there with me.
Reach out and touch
the treasure I've found, the flame within.
I am coming to know it for the first time.
So let us revert to when
there was nothing then
but vision and light,
a spirit to take flight...
waiting for embodiment.
It was waiting for me but I didn't know it.
My twinkling orb, my inner light,
burning brightly now, spreading
like a wild fire through every
fiber of my being.
[I am being.]
I am being reborn
again and again with every breath.
I discover I am in no way worthy
of possessing it, and take comfort
that I don't. Still, in ways that
are larger than I,
it is all mine and
I find myself at a crossroads.
Who to trust, where to go,
should I let me sadness show
To those who love me
or loved me then.
For I'm a different person now.
Greater, stronger, clinging to new truths...
unbound and determined.
And I know for just how long--
The rest of my days will be
filled and refilled.
Rejoice!
I have tasted the ambrosia of inner peace
and I can't go back
to any Pop Tart substitute.
I crave love and affirmation
and need only look to myself.
My arms are wrought
with tattered truths, my soul unhinged,
untangled, weeping with
newfound deliverance.
Can you know my joy?
Of course not, but you blindly
accept the unknown change in me.
I thank you for that.
The time has come that I must go,
but never far, for now I know
just where you are, and
I can follow my bread crumb trail
back as many times as I want.
What was introversion
is now introspection
and it can render no ills.
I'll linger 'till I get my fill,
then go back to the world singing.
It is the infinite muse
that stirs my soul to wake,
the breath of life that moves the curtains.
In the cool quiet of the other room
I wait for you to come to me,
eyes expectantly
searching every corner,
every shadow on the wall.
It could be you, or not at all--
such is my anticipation.
Finally I sense your cool blue comfort,
slipping in through the cracks,
touching me in those private places
I dare not go.
I am awash in your knowledge,
your spirit and light.
Paint me ethereal blue...
make me love and thirst for you
like no other can.
The soul of creation burns
with your touch, giving me more
as you wrap around my shoulders like a lover.
Sliding behind and over me,
so subtly
breathing laughter on my skin
--I am consumed--
there's fire within.
And suddenly I am alone again,
drowsy and dreaming, veiled
in the glow of what I know to be...
you and I and the night sky.
Above, eternity is spread out
like an offering, twinkling there
like so many souls looking in.
I see the tide is turning,
inch by inch, but it is no great matter.
You will come again
and I'll be waiting.
Words lost on soundless lips,
silenced by fingertips
aptly placed by you trying to quiet me.
You are smug in your audacity,
chiseling out the cornerstones
of my existence,
preparing a plate for me
when I'm not even hungry.
"You can do this, and I can do that,
and we'll be happy," is what you say.
You've got it all planned.
But you are dead wrong, my dear,
and I intend to show you
every inch of your failure.
I'll drag it out slow so they'll be no mistake.
You think you can shut me up?
You'd like to see me, I bet, tied up
and reeling with nothing more to say.
Quiet forever--is that your dream?
You think you're pulling the strings
but you don't know the half of it.
I am no puppet, sweetheart, but you are.
I think you forget
I've got you right where I want you.
From here I can do my worst--
working, writhing and etching
little secret things into YOUR soul.
I'll force-feed you until I've had my fill.
Grappling in a centrifuge of guilt and shame,
calling for you but not by your name
as I blink through the dust and grime
of where I am and what I've become.
I am a sell-out and a ruse,
licking a finger and testing the air,
looking for you but you're not there.
I think of all those dirty nights in cheap motels
[I took life for granted]
looking to everyone but losing myself
in a pastureland of loneliness.
I used to want it better.
--Now I just want it all.
Here, I've got the best of no worlds,
a debutante at Hell's ball--
laughing, smiling sweetly
as I greet my guests.
I used to want a new life,
a good life, but now I just want more--
More of what I'm asking for.
Tell me then, why should I leave?
Everyone wants to kiss my hand.
All the nothings want to make me something.
If you can offer me more than that,
I might listen, but I'm not making any promises.
I simply can't be bothered by this life,
or by most of what is in it.
I've got things to do,
wars to resolve,
problems to solve
but they're all inside
or around my feet.
So, there's nothing to eat,
and the checks bounce and
the dishes go unwashed.
It matters not.
What I need is what I've got
in my head, but that's
unacceptable, you see,
for I don't fit into your
square-peg realism.
I'm not the ideal citizen--
but I've got things to do,
stuff going on upstairs
and I really don't care
about your world or your rules
or how many wicked tools
you throw at me.
Financial ruin,
academic distress,
agencies suing,
eventual hopelessness--
I simply can't be bothered.
I don't want a job or a career,
for fear of failure and plight.
All I think and eat and breathe
is there in what I write.
It's no longer mine,
but all for you, a present at your table.
I'll provide these words of mine
as long as I am able.
So take me for a ride,
cruel world with strange intent;
I'll sharpen my daggers, word for word,
and speak until I'm spent
Or overdrawn--whichever comes first.
Throw down your quarters and dimes,
I'll help you pass the time
as you wait for life to hand you
what you've always wanted.
Let's talk then, you and I,
as a hundred faceless immigrants
dot the afternoon.
True, the bus is coming soon,
but you won't miss it.
Stay awhile and enjoy your visit.
I'll hold you close 'till it's time to go.
Tell me of your other life,
of what you did, and where you're from;
tell me of the times to come--
Make me giddy with fascination.
I'll share with you a part of me,
the things I've done and what I've seen--
you might be bored,
but at least I'm company.
Before the bus comes, speak to me,
talk a bit before you leave.
Treat me as a friend,
though we've only met today.
Speak to me so that I may
know I'm not alone.
But I feel this is the case.
For every hapless face
I meet I see slip from view,
just as I do you, into the vacuum
of "I, me, mine"--
No one has the time
to sit and talk.
The bus is here, the time is near
to make some new decisions.
I thought I had it figured out
but find I need revisions.
It really is unfortunate,
this kink in all my plans,
but when a chance like this comes by,
I'll take it by the hand
into a new land, with new people,
new things I dare not dream.
What's a girl to do?
I fancy a trip, I think--
so I'll get on the bus, too.
Lead takes the lead on parchment skin,
scratching a trail of gray/black mystery.
Connect the dots and it is you,
framed in all your nakedness.
I fear my hand is too crude
to capture it all:
Your luminous form stark and imposing
against the canvas backdrop...
the languid drape
of a limb causing my soul to ache.
It is a sacrilege to look at you,
yet impossible to look away.
The sick-yellow lamplight hangs
along the wall, casting harsh shadows
to cover your unmentionables
[yet I can still see, and entrap you on paper].
Blend and whir and blur the lines--
I see you come to life,
yet it is a poor excuse for art.
No one can see you as I see you now--
smooth, even skin
dewy saffron
in the mosquito-green glow.
Half-lids heavy,
lips slightly parted with intent.
From head to toe you drill into my soul
a glistening image of sex and music,
fever and light.
[Illuminate my night forever]
You have reined me in
and wrapped me up in an instant.
My drawing is a cheap matchbook cover--
holding the fire within
but failing to reveal the heat.
I may capture your form, but not your essence.
Such beauty eludes all constraints.
©Brandi Clark
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