In the Sun that Seeps from the Dungeons/ Window/ Everything is Bright

     C. Fausto Cabrera

 

 

    Because God is in an algorithm I hear through the toggle of my shuffle button/ from a playlist I

        composed/ I tell myself/ that if I listen, while the TV projects a pretty face to see when I look up

            from what I’m reading of poetry, mechanical pencil, click, click, underlining & taking notes in

                the margins—sipping a mug of French vanilla creamer laden coffee w/thoughts swirling in my

                    cinnamon head/ the sheer alchemy of it all should/ naturally combust! What butterfly wings

                        must taste like/embers floating/escape the chaos, wondering west to set fires/troublesome/I

                            want blood in the cut, I want noise/they made me something vicious. Will I burn out or

                                fade away? The man in black speaks for me & reminds me I’m not alone. A rainbow in

                                    the dark, I’ll take death before dishonor, bet I bomb on them first/ it’s just the life of an

                                        outlaw.

                                            I am an amalgamation of influences, intricate in their darkness, complex in their

                                                origins, some speak integrable nostalgic, others spark dumb & rash/& I gave

                                                    away my youth to sit & listen to all at once/hopeful/ saying something of a

                                                        future I’ll forget/ I longed for/ once /it arrives. I read my poetry book, circle a

                                                            word or phrase to slow down, hoping to see something I can lift/ above a

                                                                drawn line or jot in the margins that can change the way I see or say.

                                                                    Words & wonder/ pour into my ears, my eyes catch/ images I pull into

                                                                        my heart while I swallow the sweetness of an appreciation. In these

                                                                            moments I am alive. Then God says, through The City of Prague’s       

                                                                            Philharmonic Orchestra that the path isn’t interchangeable.

 

There’s no other person I’d rather be.