The contour lines on this browning pleated map are the recorded
results of unkempt emotions left
to run over this boundryless sullen body.
Leaving behind circling tracks around excavated areas
of self inflicted rage. Those calligraphy cut markings that those "experts"
from all over come to study,
yet noone, not even those most loved and trusted could give a definition
nor explanation to their origin.
Your world where you live
and this giant looking through tear filled eyes,
reflecting back all those soul searching looks from strangers.
This punishment was received on a different plane, in a different age,
where now forgiveness would cradle. But here those received
wounds do not hurt a snap shot of stagnation,
evidence carved into his chest for future generations to see.
A warning, the giants keep off the grass sign to all.
Nothing hurts until the following sunrise, where
heading towards the shower the automaton giant creaks and stretches
like a wooden seat taking his own burdening inner weight.
He humps himself into the white lined sterile cubicle.
Red eyed and staring, focussing, blinking in morse code
at the shower dial with the suspicion of Dave
towards Hal in 2001:Space Odyssey.
Turning the dial to allow the water to heat and steam, to cleanse
whisky blocked pores.
Captured screams echo at first contact of heated water as
scolded blisters already under skin
boil into venom, then injected violently into the giants
bloodstream creating maximum destruction.
Crawling back on wasting limbs, the safety of under his bed
- to recover
his low fort where no one would look for a giant.
Calendar falling into autumn leaves as this
Forgotten stone face cracks,
cold to anyone’s touch,
yet waits like a forgotten book to have the dust blown from his
emotion starved face
by your lips and for gentle fingers to run over delicate features.
Slow blinkered eyes focus into the stare of a homesick sailor
Looking for home, looking for what he hopes is there rather than look
at what is here.
The bastard coward.
Bass noted voice drawn through lips that need retuning.
lies are spoken,
his truth caught on a catapult
hurled further back down inside where they burn and power the giants anger.
That constant burning indigestion forces the giant to clutch his belly and
hurl himself in cramp to the floor.
He calls for his steed to carry him in drink to the other plane
Where he can recover from these mortal wounds.
In time these scars heal and fade
as ink spots on turned notepad pages… these pages are filled
read and read further on until those scars are nothing more than fullstops.
This giant stands too tall for people to see the imperfections.
This giant is me.