On a Clear October Night in Charleston, SC
Tonight I walked out of my house,
sunken to 4AM insomnia,
and looked up. Tonight
I saw Orion’s Belt for the first time in three months.
Having no way else to go,
I followed the line it traced, leading me south.
Colonial Lake rose before me,
a perfect dichotomy of light,
white concrete straining to hold in black water.
As I stood, listening to some man croon
and his guitars play,
and his violin tear through my head,
the lake water swelled, huge black bulk
tearing its way free, crashing up to the stars, held captive skyscraper-high
by my gaze and the frenzied melody.
The water rose tidal wave behind me,
walking down the middle of still Charleston streets,
wondering idly what it would be to die from
exhaustion. The Battery is mine, and my
continent-surge of black surf.
The huge harvest moon blasts through me,
tunnels through me,
ignores me, lonely with my eon-wave casting
its shadow. I wonder, idly, what it would be like
to die from exhaustion.
I wonder, idly, what it would be like to die, lonely, from exhaustion.
The ageless moebius-wave presses at my back and it is all I can
do not to scream.
The moon screams.
The wall of black water screams.
I am left on the edge of Charleston,
walking with the stray cats, the violin-sharp
wind in my spine.