RWP#111...inspired by this photo...credited to Milad Gheisari
TALKING TO THE CHAIR
Don't be afraid of me
I just escaped from Essondale
some vortex beyond city limits
a mental hospital
where they think everyone
has mood disorders
where nobody understands sanity
giving brain creasing operations
when I only wanted a sex change
experiencing moments
of my mothers sexuality
dipping downwards
to the lady of death
with a scar on my head
from the lobotomy of menopause
I was a lonely transexual
standing on a bed of thorns
playing a persian piano and bamboo flute
whirling, singing and sufi dancing
a colorful pastiche of gypsy sounds
taking me to some heightened state
looking for the spiritual genius of Buddha
reading Rumi and slurping words
from my bowl of ambrosia
expressing lost thoughts while crying
for the love of a lost mother
inspired by conspiracy theories
and last years nightmare
of the blind locust with a carving knife
when they captured me
taking me to some sanctuary of deprivation
where the wind doesn't blow
amongst the conversations
about squash and onions with no memories
constantly agitiated
jumping, dancing doing push ups
tangled up in delirium
preaching cheap propaganda
I refused to become a slave
of conventional ways of thinking
where ideas get lost in the universe of senses
battered graves with blind vision
and muscular ghosts of sanity
hanging from the burning fire escapes
with lost souls on three legs
wobbly, squeaky not broken
I took my axe to the bughouse square
walking out without my insanity
or black dress
I quickly stood still
putting up my hood to hide my face
to escape the ravages of my mind
and the shivers of terror
looking for the road to Vlychos
to play my flute
or maybe a taste of Bombay
I started the journey
towards the spiritual light of Buddha
and your silence that's not broken
don't be afraid of me.