Terrain;
Has ceased being a reference to expanses of land.
Now I only conjure the vast, aridness of my mind,
it’s mystery far more alluring and uncharted.
-W.E.
It’s the first thing that comes to me,
The word has lost it’s reference point,
It’s contextually only a bland description,
Of material placement when used in everyday language.
On a personal level,
The meaning brings me to spiritual awareness,
Of where I’m at,
Rather than a dictionary definition on where I am.
Perhaps relevant to the theatre,
Of the paranoid choreography,
I compose in minute nanoseconds,
Indecipherable by you,
Stare into my eyes as you may,
Not even a flicker,
A dilation or a pulse change.
It’s been my way for so long,
You won’t see anything past my glass face.
There’s far too many acts,
Superimposing themselves over each other.
“Hey there, what ya’ got lurking underneath?”
– The look of eyes staring,
At something they know doesn’t belong.
Wouldn’t you love a front row seat?
But be careful, it’s not spit,
But blood you’d be sprayed with.
It’s a battleground I tell you.
“My oh my, are you Mediterranean?”
“No,”
“Russian?”
“No,”
“Macedonian?”
“No,”
“Albanian?”
“No,”
“East European?”
“No,”
Wouldn’t you love to know.
None of the above, all of the above,
Uncharted terrain,
What’s inside this brain,
Pain, insane, damaged membranes,
Rubble, grey matter, blood stains, ink stains,
Soldiers with no names, ink stains,
Bounty hunter claims, ink stains,
The you are, how’s the front row?
Like the blood rain, the ink stains?
Enjoying the show? Entertained?
W.E.
lonerloaner 