Beyond the long days

Beyond the long days and the heat of crowds
The loud vulgarities and grating screech
Of dead weight sulking on the laden beach
Past all that, nothing knowing, proudly sneers:
Past all this, I sit in a shaded place
I wrap my fingers round my shaking arms
I count what I remember of your face
And of your name. My blood runs in the street
I shake for cold. In absence of the light.
I miss you, and I have bad dreams at night.

I don’t know where you are. I have this place
Like prison, and the days are ever long
My fingers break, my voice tears in a song
Formed of pure silence and sharp razorblades.
I kiss my mirror, throwing it away
To shatter suddenly against the wall:
I like the sound: the pieces as they fall.
I walk the day and note each torture well
Someday I will repay, break free and fight.
I miss you, and I have bad dreams at night.

They take me to a room that’s always dark.
The table where they lay me is as cold
As all my veins. Their instruments are pure
Lines in the blackness, and their eyes glow sharp.
They move with cool precision, clinically
Noting each scream, each prayer, and each tear.
There’s no such thing as mercy, justice here:
Here there is but what is, and that is all.
Their word is law, defined by each claimed might.
I miss you, and I have bad dreams at night.

This is my song of praise to you: my life.
Cold walls, hot crowds, and endless stretching hours.
My strength. My blood in slow, descending showers
Through this thick air. My every bleeding step
Down these blank corridors in chains and irons
And each long torture: still they cannot break
A single inch of me: I laugh in scorn.
They’ve known none such as me. I laugh again.
Pouring my blood, they pull back now in fright.
I miss you, and I have bad dreams at night.