Double Helix

All I ever wanted was to be simple - right like a well-done sum and broken down to a number in the singular; the answer to end all answers. But then someone left the phone off the hook, cut the [dis]connection and I was left stumbling over silences. To survive, I became a shell for words; a cup for floods – a receiver for all unspoken correspondence.
That was when all I ever wanted turned to downpours, and I lost myself in the rain.

Now, I am
a tangle of wires and loose connections; swallow-strung lines and faulty safety switches. I am the love of liars for words with the lick of life that give false impressions a heartbeat and hands to grip a jealous chest.
I am knees that knock on hardwood floors, bitten lips and fingers that knot themselves over and over, until they are stitched tight and I am undone. I am the trees growing on the underground and the birds humming between the lines, scratching track marks into skin.
I am the water locked in neptune skies, where hoverflies are caught in submarine eyes just before the rain starts to fall. Then, in watercolour landscapes, I am fixed-fluvial - thought interrupting thought interrupting thought interrupting the soundspaces of ceiling-scapes; tongue-tied shoelaces and spatial oddities. I am the daughters rocked shut in the crux of a double helix.

I am dyscrasia, slipping between the steps, the cracks in the pavement. A temporal disconnection: a formula without a face. I am a television between channels, waiting for the storm to pass so service can continue. I am insomnia with eyes the size of moons, pitted against the black of planets and the back of the sun, spinning reflections out of glass.
I am a means to an end. I make a fine fit for outstretched hands; a mouthful of split ends, spitting oceans that are deep and dark as lies; as cavernous as the pits of stones. I am the aching seams of dreams, splitting, splitting -

I am a placebo spaced between teeth, the god tablet, opening and closing on one-one-one- moment spent moving in fast-forward-motion just to look like I had a purpose, a meaning, a definition.
I am as tall as my shadow, tall as stories.

I am king of the silver skulled muses, and I am choking. I’m choking. I’m ch-

* * *

Forgive me, revision sends me crazy (or crazier, as the case may be)...

Yet more attempts at self-definition. But I still think this song does it better than I ever could.

(No, it doesn't make any sense either).

On the plus-side: prose-poem! Yay! Haven't written one of these in ages!