Michael McGuire Disasters In The Sun
DISASTERS IN THE SUN
My mind goes blank and my body goes numb, reconciling disasters in
the sun, what it means to be human; to have a soul, to admit defeat
to relinquish control, I study the afflatus of memories, to divine the
joint where time turns into me, to turn my emptiness into something I
can feel, to find one god damn thing that makes me real.
I’ve done my very best for goodness sakes, I’m not trying to opt out
of my mistakes, I will smoke all of my deeds in the fire of my art,
stock all ambitions with the hurt in my heart, I remain a stranger in a
familiar’s land, just a servant of the little I understand, I wanna slake
the thirst of my pride, but I cant divorce this apathy I took for bride.
The cosmology of my psychology, scripted and ordained in my
physiology, placates my vision with the surrogate of sight, where I can
cull neither heat nor light, with all I’ve endured and all that will be, I
can barely even remember me, divining a life from this clock paced
routine, and this dumb dictionary cant tell me what it might mean.
From the corners of the cosmos to the meat of my mind, the
intangible ghost of god to the heap of humankind, I wander in body
and wonder in thought, unlearn the petty dogmas that I have been
taught, see the face of what’s real in things yet undone, forgive
disasters in the sun, know the future from it’s sanction of waste, and
the now is eternally chaste.
All dreamers will disappear into their darkest dreams, as the planets
plot the clock of their unmanned schemes, a stoic scarecrow for the
progeny of my pain, I will teach and preach the gospel of the rain,
and so my children I come to you in naked soul, to bare the scar and
star of the shattered whole, shadow is proof the light feels no shame,
all is just feed and seed for this godless game.