Voices (draft)

On a cold day in November
I set up camp
with my Coleman lantern
cheap tent
sleeping bag
and full length mirror

the sky will turn red
and then give up on glowing
the trees will reveal their twisted silhouettes
and then bleed into black like ink in water

It's then that I'll make a fire
with lighter fluid
and strike-anywhere matches
lighting my cigarette on it
and lighting my lantern with the cigarette

That'll draw them out
they're like moths in that way
and soon enough my friends arrive:

Ethan smiles like he ought to
carefree and unashamed
living boldly
speaking plainly
barking out rhymes
"time lapse transitional
interstitial reminiscence
writing postcards to his memories
and singing songs about celebrities"
he's honest and true
and aware
"hey

I know you're there"
on the other side of this wardrobe mirror
I can't help but shrug
You caught me, I say
Have you seen Leslie?

"Nay, Sir, Nay
haven't even caught a glimpse
your slinky little feline's
fallen right off a cliff
but to be serious, Jeff
it's not exactly news
you and her were apart
and cold shoulders freeze hearts
and-"

Cut the stream of consciousness
shit, Ethan. And yeah, I guess I...

the words sting like truth usually does
peroxide on an open wound
and my muse is nowhere to be found
by no fault but my own

I turn the mirror away
(He trails off, saying:
"bottle me up all you want
like a cokecan cantankerous
motorcade of dangerous-")
and there she is:

"Hey there, Tiger
I was just enjoying the show
why'd you come out here this time?"

It's always this way with her
I'm always off guard
pants around my ankles
fucking someone I shouldn't be
and I catch her in the mirror
laughing
and smoking
I'm not a smoker

"Sure you are
you quit last week
and the week before last
and then there was that week when you quit
but you got really high all week instead-"

I'm not a smoker,
and you know it's just you.
The bitch finds her way into everything I do
self loathing rants without form or pace or meter
I fucking can't understand who would want to read the ramblings
of an unfairly treated man who refuses to acknowledge his own shortcomings and chooses instead to-

"Ahem. You were saying?
something about my influence?
Anyway, I'm fairly bored with this
what have you done this time?"

I take a deep breath and tilt the mirror just right
and it's not a mirror anymore
a prism instead
and my spectrum sits in front of me
on the left he's still grinning,
spitting, spinning
on the right she's all eyes
(those goddamned eyes that get me in trouble
and then scold me for it)
and in the center there I am

You're here because I've failed
I've failed to hear my own voice for your wailings
You!

I point at him.

You!
You're behind every joke that falls flat
every drunken antic
every "scenes from a hat"
Goddamnit you've got me rhyming,
even as I speak
Stream of Unconsciousness
totally braindead
I spit out words and arrange them like a jigsaw
shitting out a halfassed meaning
something "deep"
It's words for the sake of sound
and you know what?
that's not me.

and you!

I point at her.

You! You're what makes me question
you're what makes me lust
you're the one that has me write love songs
to women I want to fuck
you're everything about me that's dishonest and wishy washy
and you're every one of my weaknesses at once

and that's not all! you watch me fall
and you tell me I'm an idiot for ever believing you
and when I reach for your hand you turn and you smirk
off into the sunset, guns blazing, tail waving
Leslie, you're a bitch.


I back up a bit
and I pant out my rush
they're taking it in
he's shocked
she's stone

You're not me
and I came here to tell you so.
So I need you to shut up for a while.
just go away.
I don't need to see your faces in the mirror
no voices on the phone
no notes in the bottom of my plastic cup
when I've finished another drink
and please
please, get the fuck out of my poetry.



There is a short silence
I grab the mirror
Throw it into my fire
Douse it with lighter fluid
laughing like I'm crazy

Too many voices in my head
I probably am

and when the fire dies
and the skyline lights up again
I can still feel them there
but they're like hushed children in a library
whispering back and forth
hissing their lament

Which is good
because as much as I hate them
I'll need them again soon
without them I'm a mute