SCHIZOPHRENIA by D.C. Wojciech




a million burning suns within each bloody knuckle

fighting the mind the senses of self the voices fighting

the inner compass spinning like a mind a flame

a room on barbiturates and drink—the only likeness

for a madness this raw is that a barf bag on a crashing

airplane is a convenience but one cannot become a pilot

out of animal instinct alone—

cry of javelina removes the speck of dust from the eye

licks the blade of history books clean

from between worlds on fire

on the fire escape you told me to meet you in 15 years at the same spot

where the voice begins—

lovers forget their clothes for the numberless time of night

smoke pirouettes stars lift the spirit galaxies breathe

easier when sycamore is my brother again the ancestors speaking

the Atlantic into a puddle for our family’s trek to the west before the war

in the wind in the trees anything sings

anything voiced listening—

1986 in Poland was a cold winter

you act unsurprised when i tell you yr teeth are showing

like thoughts are light i'm sure of it

years or burdens—

i wish the rosebud could keep burning through winter

i wish the stars were shining in puddles of light in the sky today

i wish i were a river erupting through the land despite the wicked & the afraid

the forests tell me they would rather invoke the 1st before the 5th i’m sure of it

but the illusion of man turns away

from certain truths like every mind is a jouster of an invisible opponent

walking a tight rope over the fire of the voices throwing up bloody wicks

at its feet

certain truths unendorsed by marketing departments will have to reach the masses some other way

just know i lived to understand i didn't worry about being understood except when i did

take me through yr mind i'll show you the attics of missing pages i'll show you the ministries of economics

fallen to their knees clasping hands i'll show you 1,000 butterflies mimicking the light of thought the thinking

on the stove i have not forgotten about the tea & this candle has been burning in my chest since before i touched

it with my eyes, this candle has been burning in my eyes because because because because

i put the candle in the window anyways i put my fists before my stomach the search party for the unvanquished voice

led me to this moment i can remember the only time i ate oysters but not from whence i came but not from where i'm going—

as if the origin of man the illusion of time the difference between sirens & starlight as if the unquantifiable is outside existence

when a child gives you reason to believe in angels, try to carry yr uncertainty to the shores of the voice

and speak light from the light of thought, be kind to yrself who knows what you’ve made it through

unless you tell them and even then, hardly anyone would believe you, the ones who did had you committed, carry yr uncertainty to the shores of the voice

and let the song

move the body let the song move the body let the song move the body through lavender fields of synapses in the skull the light houses the mystery of all creation

you caught me thinking with my other head last night yr thighs are a holy land i prostrate my hands before the fire of night burning inside the skulls of the living the living the living light kiss me like a candle on yr tongue—

i am he who is numberless in persons & yet here we are human beings not recognizing the self in the self in each other it is really a shame that shamanism

wasn't enough of a fashion trend in the last decade for the people to demand of ourselves new modes of thinking which would evict the legislators and career politicians

from their post & give them strait jackets in padded rooms instead, Houdini may have been a madman before he was an escape artist for all i know i stopped throwing politicians in 2001—

YOGA IN THE (SUBURBAN) HOOD, MEDITATION GANGSTERS; I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH ALL THESE POET-POLITICIANS DYING ON HILLS THEY NEVER CLIMBED. IT SEEMS EVERY DAY THERE’S A NEW SCANDAL IN POETRY BIZ. EVERY DAY IT SEEMS I GROW WEARIER OF THEIR IDEAS OF FREEDOM. THEIR IDEAS OF SAFETY. AS LONG AS EVERYONE THINKS LIKE ME NOBODY CAN BE UNSAFE, RIGHT?

IF YOU TOLD THEM WHAT YOU WENT THROUGH TO GET HERE, THEY WOULDN’T BELIEVE YOU. THE ONES WHO WOULD BELIEVE YOU WOULD HAVE YOU COMMITTED.

NO NEED TO BE WEARY. SOME OF THE POETS AROUND HERE ARE MORE COP THAN THEY ARE POET.

NO NEED TO BE WEARY. MANY OF THESE POETS WON’T BE ABLE TO HACK IT WHEN THEY’RE DEAD EITHER. ETERNITY IS AN (((AIR QUOTES))) LOFTY GOAL, ISN’T IT?

STRETCH THE IMAGINATION. TAKE UP ALLEGIANCE TO REALITY AS IT IS. PUT YR OWN POEMS BEFORE THE FIRING SQUAD OF YR EYES.

whatever crawls off the page to yr mouth to yr ears & eyes can be considered from now on a tomb of compliance

is it the poet’s place that rainwater spelling itself backwards in the air must be for some future generations is it the poet’s place that present moment beautiful moment how many fingers am i holding up how many fingers does it take to point yr attention away from these fingers & towards the moon herself?

everything preceding the wheel was simply instinct, everything following the wheel is simply the human imagination turning & turning & turning the key in the lock of eternity the bees are angry who can blame them everything sweet is guarded by truth—

if anger is the guard dog of my love let it be so

there are no more endless marigolds only when the prayer becomes the reason to keep going & moves from the spirit to the hands to the feet how many prayers in my shoes in pools of blood in scars secret languages seeping in the moon’s elusive meaning bringing the light of thought the word the deed to the body of water the body of water to the land and back to the land again—

i wish i was a pristine lake tonight do you feel my cool waters in the warm air caressing yr skin yr thighs yr mind i wish for my true love to meditate in the morning and fuck like a speeding car chase through a city of pearls in the night we won’t let the night get away from us

the last time i saw a lion in the clouds i pulled a joint from my ear and created the rain

passing yr bus transfer to a stranger is one simple way of believing in humanity

the last time i heard the word democracy Flint, MI was still without clean drinking water

asking for justice on stolen land is like asking the devil himself to fix the thermostat in hell—

a million burning suns within each bloody knuckle

fighting to not be taken down by the machine the mechanical patterns of thinking which lead one through endless mazes of vertigo, contagion, neurosis, expelled & truant to yr own self to the light carried by thought alone—

discernment hymns & a critical mass of invisible endurance

light moving through the mind

the timid catalyst of universal wisdom

celestial monuments the momentum of the word

time keepers & their remorse

piano players & the soul of man

beggars turning the sidewalk into a shrine for the lonely & afraid

businessmen & hedge fund managers turning tricks around the clock

the mad yakkers of Market St.

the long walkers of Redwood St.

park bench & bus stop prophets

Houdini on Tuolumne St. in a blue suede suit & tie, watch him escape the body unread

hundreds of years from now



The poem, SCHIZOPHRENIA, appears in D.C. Wojciech’s full-length poetry collection DAY & NIGHT (Anvil Tongue, 2021). For more information, please visit: https://anviltonguebooks.blogspot.com/p/books.html

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