Artful Noise

Sometimes I create spirals of artful noise

to distract you from 
the visceral solitude of

a yearning that draws me into

the vacant stillness of empty streets

not yet haunted by the entrails

of lonely ghosts
seeking shelter from the night.

Making shadow puppets dance

around the flames of the fire,

I wrestle with the desire

to be seen,

to be touched,
to be known.

A feverish fear lingering, pierces it's nails into my skin-

the fear
of being(.)

exposed to the razor-thin brevity of
the recklessness of fickle curiousity,

discarded once explored,

obscure once tasted,

unable to retreat

into silent repose.

The fall has me transfixed,

an eternal sonata climaxing 

backwards into the depth 

of the dark abyss,
no longer threatened by 

the frosty tinctures of apathy's shallow gaze

I fit blissfully into

the womb in which I am enclosed,

a sanctuary of seclusion I have secured,

inside the oblivion of the limbo

in the spaces
between

the illusive steadiness of control and

the bittersweet sting of
infinite loss within surrender.