Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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Careful. Don’t press this day like a nail underfoot. Watch each step. The pain will relent once the weight shifts, left, on the other leg, away from the sun and its perilous truths that stitch across a bruising sky with short arcs; seams leaking longing. Be mindful. Bring full force down and pain will shred the sacred fantasy propped up in between the hours of toil. Those are longer moments, right before the needlepoint hex creases the softest part of the sole and bleeds spirit dry. The warnings wail like claxons at cloudy British dawns, night stolen away by fear of everything, but mostly of that sick wraith called loneliness lurking in the incongruent madness of shapes haunting shadowy bedrooms, the covers pulled under chins and the eagle scream outdoors a reminder that standing behind every terror is alone. And then the pace ends, slow as erosion, and the knees feel like crumbled sea cliffs and the ankles like washed away shorelines. Surging, burning, present churning, volcanic disdain and a past aflame, tearing skin reaching up, deep, waking, taking, staking a claim to the woe of making any deep love that lures from the agony of one foot after the other, of pushing ahead and choking down dreams. Let that smoke waft through gray sun from the ruins of hope, the progress of yesterday turned to the blitz of today; the dreams of tomorrow just sweet steps without pain.


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(at Two Step)

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