I know it's there
lurking in the hindbrain
where it thinks I can't go
but it is wrong
Backdoors to the mind
always seem to open on swamps
The wetlands common to us all
And which will never be drained
So there it is in all its leathery
green glory, eyes like slits
and a tail like a thick whip
which I struggle to contain
Fatigue and sadness and hunger,
myriad shattered glass edges of days
gone blurry trying to keep up,
and be civilized, pen intact
Lizard man has not interest in these
nor fear of them, And who would be?
Jaws full of teeth, breath of tidal mud
Strength and brute power
I patrol the swamp borders
Looking for spoor and dung
I don't fear him anymore
I respect him a lot
I am the lizard man
Not the lizard king
And the leash I have
Is strong and short
I pull, hard, to keep it from others
Trainer and charge in combat
But sometimes the mask slips
And it escapes.
"Forget the night.
ReplyDeleteLive with us in forests of azure.
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned - immaculate."
Another completely captivating metaphor of another, hidden, buried part of you. You know what? I keep a little lizard toy on my desk at work to remind me of my own link with antiquity. Primal, genetically programmed behaviors, fight-or-flight mentality. Sort of a reminder that I have (on a good day) evolved beyond it. Thankfully, it's a little red lizard, sort of cute. Not too scary.
ReplyDeleteBackdoors to the mind... cool.
ReplyDelete