Inside Out

I should be
thinking of feeling,
suspicious of love,
deeper than I am,
a paragon of wealth
unable to find home,
restless, insatiable,
the hare-brained genius.

I should work more,
longer,
be completely unsatisfied,
have no other desire,
give jouissance to the wind,
let rain fall on what it may.

I was found guilty
of all such shoulds,
sentenced to life
without relief
or surcease.
To survive
only in imagination,
I watched others reading
voraciously
dictionaries, encyclopedias,
biblical strictures,
memoirs of rakehells.

No reason to follow
or lead,
the grime in my heart
dirt poor,
my soul a bucket of sweat,
and sun
a memory of snow,
of ice melting.

I looked upon her smile,
smiled to echo hers.
I imagined her body
I could not see.
I fulfilled
the lineaments of desire,
a truth of feeling
because it was feeling.

Nothing stopped me,
nothing but distance,
nothing but poverty,
nothing but loyalty
to the past.
They are with me now
as always,
no matter what sorrows
lace memory,
unforgivingly.

How could I
be more happy
than now?
How could I be
more free to dance?
How could I find words
to show your beauty
inside out?

(25 June, 18 July 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander