Eyeing The Wallpaper After A Walk

Flowers dot these walls
ringing with roses and sweet green leaves
a room where dreams have yet to free themselves
from clutching ivy and the vices that lie
within momentary lapses of judgement

Lapsing from madness to madness
pounding letters into this desk
with fingers stiff and cold from ill use
on windy walking days
where the sound of shoes on pavement is drowned
only by the beat in the center of my head

Every traveling day,
the thought is the same:

Today, I am the beating heart
of every wasted Sunday
I am the angry grief
of moments cast aside

And I have been grief
and I have been anger

And
let's be honest
I have been a fool

Chasing lovestrings like bits of paper in the wind
sewing with blood beaded fingers and a clumsy needle
tatting patterns on the skin of my heart
awful needlework I hate you
I hate the necessity of knowing

and I hate not knowing

Skittery fingers on stone floors
probe every crevice with precision -
precisely what are they looking for?
salvation redemption absolution
nirvana enlightenment
all means to an end
peace

If this thing is not in you
where do you find it
what kind of eyes must look

how much fear sleeps in what they must see?

I will find a mirror of spirit
so that I can see these eyes
that blind me to myself
but I will not find it here
in this little room
or on any road that never shows its end
to a man blinded by his own sight