Sounds of an accordion
Playing in a dream
Pressing out cacophony
Squeezing out a scream
If not for the accordion
The demon could not dance
He wouldn’t have a place to go
To play his games of chance
Darkly does the demon dance
Twirling in its cage
Flashing opalescent teeth
Grinding out its rage
And eyes that clash
With ancient storm
Seethe with hate
And light deform
Burn with passion’s
Baser call
Disemboweling Dreams
It’s been a while since I posted anything but short fiction here. I have my reasons. Not the least of which is a grueling treatment schedule that has left me weak, tired and maybe a little melancholy. To be completely honest, I don’t trust myself to write about my struggle, right now. Too easy to pule and whine, and who needs that?
Far better to go with fiction for a while, I say. So, I was digging around in my archives over the weekend, in search of more fiction to post, and I stumbled upon a folder filled with poetry I wrote some 30-odd years ago. I say 30-odd, because it covers a time between the mid-80s through the late 90s. I call this my doggerel period.
Anyway, I was going through my old doggerel and I stumbled upon the above, which was written in 1989 – 30 years ago this November. I have no idea what my mind-set was at the time I wrote it. I was still in my twenties, how bad could life have been? And yet, when I re-read it after 30 years, I was taken by how precisely it sums up my inner feelings, right here, right now.
Was I sending myself a message? I doubt it. I just think certain artifacts mean different things at different times, depending on what’s going on around us. I’m sure I had a reason for writing it then, but that reason is completely lost to me. Instead, it means something altogether different now. I’m not sure whether the demon in question is the gut goblin, or me. I’m not sure it matters at this point in the proceedings.
Because I don’t care what they tell you, cancer sucks, but cancer treatments suck more.
Another Shard next week. You’re welcome.
Ground Zero 