CODA
This life,
Lived like a dream through stained glass
In a hazy deciduous forest alone among strangers.
I am the most strange, I am the different outsider:
Feeling like a vacuous soul on an endless ride
On a forgotten Ferris wheel, high and low, low
And higher but waiting and left and dropped at the low.
The ride is always on endless bizarre looping roads
Upon which all unfamiliar sights become visible as
Mysterious grey sculptures in the rear view mirror.
My insides are weary from traveling through seasons like a
Naked Amnesiac: the past remembered and easily forgotten.
The ghosts of ancestors are speaking through dense fog,
Cutting through this bittersweet life through which I
Involuntarily passed without my written consent making
My passages all a crime, an extreme felony.
In time I sat perched all alone seeing possibilities but
Owning disappointments during touches by many who
Broke my damaged parts and stole my wail, my shouts
My distressed chiseled shadows and my pale scratched echoes.
This life is now mostly all behind me pushing me to the
Now where I stand on a precipice not sure which way to go:
To the detour or the curve in the road or a stop sign or
Drive to the dead end or move miles away and live the
Same way in the same life: this red lighted life.
And as frightening as the journey has been during
The vivid Technicolor scenes and after midnights in film noir
In all the pain and anguish and panic…
All I really want, all for which I long
Is to stay longer, to remain, and not leave this place.
--- Marjorie J. Levine
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