Floating On Ice

Circle of Abandoned Patience

It’s the same routine everyday:
Wake up, eat, pick a mask, 
A set of armor, and an umbrella
To shield myself from the cries of others.
And so I depart. My feet take me ‘cross the roads,
Over green furs of grass, past the salty
Houses on the edge of the sea, where there’s
Barbecue in the seasoned winds,
People on the silky sand, rippling 
Smiles, gardens of light, studios 
Of flavors and color–
All wonderful, beautiful things.

But that’s not me. I don’t look
At myself; my own mask is too heavy;
I see the ground, and my feet
Take me to the one place
That is not my home–
Every single day,
Without fail or persuasion,
Against all thought.

That place has not changed; the mask
Sifts through the enchantments
To reveal the toxicity of the place;
A curse left behind by some force beyond me. 

There the reason is broken, and dissonant 
Things happen there. I see the people
Who are not there, I hear the music
After it ends, I smell perfume before the spritz,
And wind blows when the door is closed.
My timing is always wrong. 
It’s like I’m not supposed to be here, 
Yet I am, as the soul
In this vessel is still very much
Burning, and I cannot pull
Myself away from such a force. 

I can’t remember what happened before this. 
I can’t find the orbital I was told to stay
In, and every time I ask why, my voice dies
Out like the lower octave harmonies,
Struggling to be heard with the higher octave. 
There isn’t a seat for me 
At any table, and not even the system
Picked me up with their hands and claws 
For twenty-five cents. 
So I wait outside in the rain and tape
A serpent’s eye to the inside of my umbrella,
Hoping that if I strip I can show you
Who I really am.

Take me back to the past,
Before the time of the mask. 
The masque should have ended. 
There is nothing here, so why
Do I keep coming back to wait?
Who will answer to my cries
In the rain?
What is wrong with me?