Thinking Man by Rust Red

This was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #66: Re-Imagine Your Life. I took a little license with this, so the poem isn’t about me. I took a little inspiration from R.E.M.’s “Country Feedback” (in fact, I think this poem could be an answer to this song). Enjoy.

-Nicole
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the sun has spilled upon his face
light makes enemies of darkened thoughts
evil musings
cruel and wanton
wanting to seize him and kill him
turn him into death itself
walking, walking in endless night

but now the sun has spilled upon his face

and regret makes waste
of his heart
for just a moment
peering beyond yesterdays
he sees should-have-beens
endless movies of what-could-have-beens
all vivid and spectral in his eyes
and one comes into bright focus
she’s dancing
the girl he should have married
she’s dancing
the girl he should have spoken those three words to
soft, gentle, and sparkling
spilled through with a luster that would make angels cry
but now he cries
and wonders:
where do her feet fly now -
making gentle circles on pavement,
barely dusting hardwood with soft strokes,
kissing marble with gentle steps,
or smacking the face of linoleum with hard, leather boots?
where do her feet fly now,
except in this old worn frame-by-frame piece
of cinematic regret?
this film
is on a maddening loop
in his heart

but now the sun has spilled upon his face

these clothes
don’t fit him right
and never did
these clothes
of agony and endless heartbreak
he’s learned to wear barbed wire wool
wear hairshirts
scratching skin
peeling away layers of the love she left on his face
on his shoulders
on his chest
on his legs
between his legs
where musk still radiates now
but smelling to his nose as foul
as factory waste
because it’s wasted
because there’s no one there anymore
to follow his scent
to follow his trails
to find his heart
these clothes
of hardened pretense
toughened manhood
cold enough to chill all who dare approach
to find his heart
cold enough to freeze looks of love
cold enough to freeze twinkles of curiosity –
the kind that contain secret coded message of wondering
what he smells like
what he tastes like
what he sounds like
cold enough to freeze and shatter into billions of pieces
the hopes of any girls and boys
who would dare even THINK of trying to love him
these clothes
that he now must shed
else he die
but the truth is
he already sees a dead man in the mirror
these clothes
that now suffocate him with a hot, uncomfortable warmth
burning the skin underneath

for now the sun has spilled upon his face

and now the sun must burn through
burn holes in the film
sparkle bright
give sunlight
give him the power to cut the film
and spill the resulting ribbons on the cutting room floor
spill the ribbons
spill these memories
instead of the jagged pieces of his heart
that he can still feel, aching and burning into his chest

the sun has spilled upon his face

and he prays for this sun to melt and soften
these jagged heart edges
so he can fit piece with piece
hold the whole mess together
and let it bond like glue

the sun has spilled upon his face

and the tears have spilled upon his face

and soon
through water eyed waterfall glances
he will see
tomorrow

Written 2/13/09
© 2009 Nicole Nicholson except for words in italics, which are © 1991 R.E.M. Athens, Ltd. All Rights Reserved on original material by Nicole Nicholson.

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