sitting with my private self 

within a private room

 i see Myst'ry walking on the air 

and i scream in silence 

as the dark light passes

is mine a call or summons 

a panic-plea, a desp'rate sign? 

who knows as my mouth shuts 

about the soundless wonder

  hollowing my throat

mute, i'm thrown into the dungeon 

of lone communion, where the 

hunger for words is something

  more than for food or fluff

  passed around as super-substantial

this is no carnival, no circus 

where clowns induce laughter 

by falling on their heads

this is blind sanity, incomparable 

madness made sane by seeing, 

the touch of the Invisible holding

 ones attention beyond the skies 

for the viewing of visions

  revealed to the patient-waiters

oh, that i had, i had

i understand why people kill themselves 

coming upon a bridge or meeting a

gun head or heart-on, emptied of hope 

of any chance to change  

to be other than another's thought of them 

to drag the burden of immutability about their feet 

shackling the reputation of their very self 

as if the other were god, any god 

and they, one bad angel loose on the world 

of their making and unmaking 

while the sinless ones hide well their transgressions 

their thoughts, their feats, their transgressions of mind 

their honey-covered flesh enough to be innocent

in the general judgment of the guilty

how i wish i had, i had done 

what's supposedly i have done 

deeds so bad that injustice is necessity 

and sign of inclusion for the pure of heart

  rejected as a concession out of hand

oh that i had, i had, to muster up a smile

  having accomplished something with pride

  exposing the accuser's sins 

frozen in convenient truths and lies

*Behind every story is a story.