FORTY YEARS OF THE AERIALIST

Feel free to leave me a message this time, and let me know how life has taught you?

Every stress leaves an indelible scar, and the organism pays for its survival after a stressful situation by becoming a little older. Hans Selye

Forty Years of the Aerialist

I am walking a tightrope
with abandoned recklessness
over a blanket of black.

My shadowed eyes will not deny
the shaking mirage of
shattered rationalizations found

in the sordidness of eroded demons,
as she creeps into my weariness,
into my soul’s sojourn, and

into my quiet solitude. I write.
I write

my abducted love letter to her.
I write in the red blood of salt
afar. I write to the double house

of death and rebirth—I write
of a simple switch from
distorted alternate layers

as the cold white morning
rises and the curtain is
slowly drawn.