Stream of Consciousness: Test 4

HUBRIS / To an Insolent Man in a Humble Bar

 

Stream of Consciousness: Test 4

by J McC

Hollow, stern and baptized by by bravado.

This man drinks up, sits down.

His face is prickly, framed by an rusting anchor and a clown’s smile.

He is no steady, grounding spirit.

His neck is exposed, a tilted head

And peering down his nose

He arches for a fight. And jab will do,

Conscious of the strained leather which cracks and

squeezes as he turns, slowly,

as if his entire bulk were unimpressed –

The vain connoisseur is ready to pass judgement;

clawing at gratification with his teeth.

Spits, nods & a scorched gaze,

Eyes ripe with conceit.

I hoped to believe in sensitivity:

Full lips, glossy hair that warms to soft light –

No. I am the cherry on your ego.

Your old skin tells rotten jokes

Mauls innocence like forks in child’s clay

The rest is stiff with arrogance.

He assumes my stupidity and ignorance.

My mouth is a circle of despair;

It humours you and is funnier than you.

You do not see this.

He does not see this.

Instead, he glares at me with indifference,

A wild chatter escapes and he shuts,

Emptied of malediction. Yet

I am darker than you.

Your mists and shadows are just stories,

Broken branches and soil kept in jars;

A head stuffed with mirrors.

You only just hit the road;

I was born of it,

And from the echoes of strangers

You’ll learn silence,

For yours is a mind wrapped within itself and itself

And these skulls are merely bookmarks.

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