New Ceremonies for Old Skin by Jason Wright

See this old skin, see these baggy eyes, see this plastic smile and lions grin?

Let the ceremonies begin.

See this dragon walk, breathe into a bastards lung, see the wall of blue inching in?

Let the crest of the wave carry me home- let the loser win.

Now watch as we all dive in to this spectacular display

It’s a mirrored image of a dismantled page, of a disenfranchised slave

Of a parade of misdirected saints, all running the wrong way to the end of the race.

It’s a ceremony, all of us new, born.

The wrench in my mind, has unwinded my clock,

And has pushed me back to when I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t walk

And couldn’t hold a pen in my hand,

Couldn’t sleep, and saw a bridge, and this is where I used to live,

Alone in an alley, with a vaudeville tramp, living for something I couldn’t quite grasp,

Just a handful of scraps, put into a loose-leaf binder,

Where the welcome were unwelcome we begin to rewind here,

Where the soul of a misfit, was hung at the gallows………and darkness lifted

And the sun stole our shadows, and brought them to a place where pen and misfit made

A new ceremony for old skin, and the band it played,

On and on, and on and on,

And Leonard took the stage,

And that was the dream…and I guess it still is, from two poets, two lovers, two slaves.

All taken away by the crest of a wave, listening softly to the silence it saved.

Courtesy of Rubba Boots Photography © 2009

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