word for word I’m writing my book,
making my costumes and playing me
the best I can

I think I am rather good
remembering all those lines that could
have once made a difference
when sunsets felt real,
beyond their damaged magnetic fields
I sang, I danced, I concurred
and when my sword bent from its knees
and I couldn't cry any more
I walked on burning coal through the icy rain
to embrace the forgotten

I keep on writing my book

chapter by chapter
I pierce my ears, die my hair, conjure the dark forces
and anchored by fear I deliver
touching, exhilarating, borderline shocking
live entertainment
half brave, half pushed
sometimes merely there
I remember the lights,
blinding they are, hallowing they are

I keep on wearing my costumes

children rush to me like lambs to their mother-sheep
and their smiles, joy and clapping
are worth a whole sun and one bright half of a Moon
we lick ice-cream together,
get colds together
make sticker-charts together and
sit on the naughty step together
and after dark - and only after dark – we pray to not have to pray again

keep reading
turn the page to the scene
with the guy who locked the rare wounded dove in a cage
and the woman who loved too much, laughed too much, wore too much lipstick
and her depressed chiwawa
and keep playing me
Sunday to Sunday
the best you can