i hear footsteps following
me
or maybe i'm following them
but in the early morning,
when everything is
quiet
and it seems no one is around,
there's enough aroused to scare
me
into believing it's afternoon
and i should be
somewhere else, doing things
normal
people would do in the later
stages of a day, but instead
i find myself keeping watch
on a world that won't sleep
alone
because in the flickering
night sky, this planet makes
love
with various massive bodies
that float in its atmosphere
and still, and still i
listen
for those footsteps to remind
me
that i cannot escape
from being followed
and i cannot stop following
someone
although i do not see anyone
there's no touch, no voice
and there's just a sound
trying to tell me something
about this path i take, about
myself
and how it cannot be sane
to wander blindly behind
invisible footsteps or realize
footsteps
are walking hand in hand
with my tracks, with my
frustration
that swells in my feet,
that lingers in my face,
that travels through my
tunnels
to seek that shimmering light
but i cannot
cut
myself to let blood force
out my indelible hatred,
to taste an inner freedom
that gropes for an opportunity
to feel like a normal shadow
walking
in front of the pack, not behind
where footsteps rattle the staircase
and i am confident, in rare form, to
shout
for someone to step forward,
reveal
that he is that constant in my life,
this imaginary friends i've spoken with
since i was seven, since i
fell
into desperate hallways inside
school buildings that helped trap
myself
within my invisible cosmos,
where words on paper gave me
shelter
gave me something to savor
when underestimated forces
swallowed
me whole, to digest me inside
their stomach tract where i found
myself
surrounded by people without faces,
without voices, without any markings to
distinguish
one person's fears from another's
but we felt safe, we could share
feelings
with just words written down
and when we finish this digestive
process
we can, i can again hear footsteps
made by an imaginary friend
or some wingless guardian
angel
that can comfort only through
telepathic means, that motivates
through photosynthesis, needing
nothing
but someone to believe in them
and i believe in footsteps that guide
me
to somewhere that i can feel
secure with my voice, my face
and with those scars only
i
can see on the membranes inside
and i'll secure faith in what
spirituality
rests, or works, in my poems
because that's where my happiness
waits
for me to take control and forget
about footsteps that lead, footsteps
that follow me endless journey
nowhere
because the best footsteps
are those i strategically,
those i confidently place for
others
to examine how i paced myself
in trying to deal with everyone's
footsteps
April 2, 1998
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