Read an Excerpt
Conversations with Skeletons
By Kirk DeMatas
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Kirk DeMatas
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3424-3
Chapter One
Confronting the Grief of Years
On my thirtieth birthday, I woke to the sound
of bones rattling inside my closet.
The vibrations rapped against my naked eardrums
and lured me into the realm of the blues.
My consciousness rode the sound waves like a sea bird
scanning an abyss for some nourishment.
Beguiled by this rhythm, I understood the trap,
just as Josef K. does in
The Trial.
I could hear the scratching against the heavy door,
and after what felt like one year, I stood.
My hand became a benevolent dictator,
ushering the darkness into the light.
The air was soaked in the miasma of secrets
exhaled by the shadows in my closet.
Frozen in the eye of a tornado, I watched
as secret histories swirled about me.
I recognized my various incarnations
caught in their repetitious narrations.
My former selves remained the monarchs in their worlds;
as I witnessed this, I became anguished.
To save my former selves, I had to dry my tears;
I confronted the grief of many years.
The light of peace filled the room and I became free.
As the Godfather Rises and Sets
Your eyes shine as bright as two sunrises
in the old photo housed in its frame,
a picture of love from another time,
when innocence was not met with shame.
My mind travels into this charming scene
to embrace my cherished memories.
Your eyes shine as bright as two sunrises
as you fetch me from a night of dreams.
My young tongue trips over words as I cry
over night visions of beasts and fiends.
Wrapped up in your arms, I sleep as in bed;
creatures dare not creep into my head.
Your eyes shine as bright as two sunrises
in my mind as I try to hold on.
The image of you slips into the sky,
and time seems to roll back to the dawn.
The night returns, and I fall back asleep;
the beasts return to me—in my dreams.
Your eyes whisper farewell as two sunsets
ride into the opened arms of night.
My tongue trips over my words as I fret
over the loss of my own white knight.
Wrapped up in the distractions of strange men,
I wish I could see your face again.
Sophismata
The innocents lay in the arms of darkness;
resting comfortably in the silence,
the two fall into a deep slumber.
In dreams, the young silhouettes enjoy
the pleasantries of the fantastical.
The sun runs along their skin
as laughter rides upon the wind;
they are free from the seduction
of ripened fears.
But even in this dreamland, the sun
must fall, and as the night draws near,
the innocents are steered back to reality.
Quiet in the room, the silence is startled
by her harsh voice. Staring and not seeing,
her vision is twisted by a suspicious imagination.
Accusations simmer behind her hot eyes.
She burns my innocence away, and I rot,
the memory of me swiftly banished
into the shadows of her mind.
Shadow Games
My schoolboy self hangs
his head in shame.
He stares at his feet, now engaged
in an adult game,
one he does not understand
but feels compelled to play.
A muffled voice whispers
into my right ear,
just as an unknown shadow
comes into the light —
a head juts out, and I respond
in spite of my fear.
Delighted by the company
and curious about the presence of he,
whose face remains hidden from me,
I enter willingly, as he unknowingly
breaks the rules to play with me.
Staring at his feet, my eyes sail upward
and I see what would later attract me.
The stranger ends this round of the game,
but not before sparking my curiousity.
My schoolboy self hangs
his head in shame.
Halder Crescent Crush
I see the feet scrambling past the basement window.
Immediately and discreetly,
my fresh fascination with blasphemy awakes
and tugs at me.
Silence floods the concrete-walled space
and plugs my ears.
All I hear is the sound of my heart beating,
rapidly speeding to accommodate the thoughts
racing in my mind.
This blazing and sudden heat incites me
to cool myself with a honey-sweet treat.
I run up the stairs and open the door;
there before me stands the neighbourly governor—
the one of my adolescent fantasies.
I look at you—you are unassuming.
You are unaware of the magnificence of you
leaping right into me.
My heart races to match the rush
of the bloody stampede.
My head is open to countless pictures of you.
The sorcery of lust binds me.
I serve blindly, even as fear invades,
even as I wish I could succumb to cowardice;
I am led by the need for a kiss.
Impetuous youth—I am choosing
not to associate consequences with my actions.
I soften my resolve and my defence strategy
to be one with my curiosity.
I choose to embrace my burgeoning lasciviousness.
The knock on the door quickly becomes a rumble.
Thunder grumbles within me; hunger wraps
itself around my sensibility.
The helpless one is squeezed into complacency.
I open the door.
We quietly sneak into a cemented room nearby.
The faint scent of gasoline lends
a dirty flavour to the seduction scene.
Locked in the darkness,
with nervousness in abundance,
we begin to caress each other.
I think to myself that my parents hoped
I would turn out better than this.
Shaken suddenly by a kiss,
we are both paralyzed.
A witness was born in the eyes
of my sister.
Scraps in Your Eyes
I feel your menacing eyes pierce
through my fragile exterior.
Behind my meagre defences,
you now see that the core of me
harbours a so-called deformity.
You are disgusted that I would permit
a freak to seek tenancy within me.
You demand an explanation.
You suspect premeditation.
You suspect that I pursued this liaison.
Your assumptions lead to your revulsion.
I feel you shun your firstborn son,
even as I deny ownership of this aberration.
I am cast out of your sight.
I am left disarmed and vulnerable to harm.
I am set as a feast to be devoured
by the most wicked beast.
I am scraps thrown to my new kin.
Warfare
Bedtime shadows whisper into my ears;
words sound like wicked weapons.
Shrapnel explodes violently inside;
wounds open their gaping mouths.
I lie awake, a bloodstained battlefield;
warriors do not stand by.
I stare up at the naked sky of night;
lone soldier will fight again.
I Paint Bruises
The day holds its breath as I breeze
into my parents' room.
I am sullen;
I am a slave to the blackness
colouring me inside.
A schism brought my internal counsel
to its knees, stripping me of the confidence
needed to clip the wings of a rising tide.
No confidants left;
they were victims of theft.
So I invade this space,
aware of what awaits—a case laced
with rainbow bait for the face.
The colours, in all their glimmering glory,
dance in my eyes.
I am left temporarily mystified,
but I quickly disarm my innocent fascination
and submit to my inauspicious inclination.
The day holds its breath, watching
as I formulate my resolution.
I seek an exposition.
I am tired of my anonymity.
My eyes stare intensely
at the peculiar case;
the colours mean nothing to me;
I want the absence of this.
I dip my fingers into the blackness,
swirling throughout the darkness
of this compact sea.
I paint the bruises around my eyes,
drowning them in lies,
to reveal the anger inside.
I stand before the mirror—hypnotized.
I am now ready for the inquisition.
Chapter Two
When Lambs Feast on Forbidden Fruit
The light from the moon pools
on the cold mansard roof
before raining down upon us—
three Christian lambs.
We wear the moonlight briefly
before it melts off
into the night,
then coolly walk
into the light
of the faux Art Deco lobby.
This hotel,
in all its majesty,
with its coat of arms,
impresses the elite,
but not us—
the youths wrapped in jeans.
The hotel porter shepherds us
through the eerie hallway.
The yellow paint languishes
on the walls;
our feet grind hard
into the soft green floors,
and the air vents call out to us
with one collective hiss,
that bliss will come
once we enter the pit.
All of this mingles
in my mind,
conjuring up a terrifying image
of us sliding down the throat
of a snake—
we reach the pit.
As we enter our room,
the butterflies in my stomach
grow dragon-sized wings.
I stand still, almost paralyzed
as I stare at the bed built for kings.
Anxious to drown my nervousness,
anxious to begin our celebration,
liquor of various colours pours
out of our bags
and into us.
We soak up the spirits,
pushing our limits,
becoming senseless,
as we fill the room
with youthful nonsense.
The playground becomes us.
Lost in the bliss of drunkenness,
we dare the universe to master us,
and with just one kiss,
temptation devours our piousness.
We bathe in the sweetness
of forbidden fruit,
relishing the moment
before its juices wash away.
The sun charges into our room unexpectedly
to light our embarrassed faces.
We cover ourselves;
we hide ourselves;
we shield our semi-nude bodies,
hoping to bury in sheets
the joy of rolling in the sweat
of each other.
I, Asmodaeus
This mirror frames my changing universe.
My effigy stares blankly before shattering
into pieces. My remains dissolve
into ripples within the sea of glass.
Staring into this silent chaos, I
see somebody rise from the ground of me.
A suit of shadows clings tightly to his body;
his face resembles my own, but his eyes
carry a darkness that I do not own.
I want to shield my soul from his vision
but the mystery that creeps behind his eyes
intrigues me, and leads me down to his lips.
His dusk-kissed mouth opens like a nimbus cloud
and his long red tongue falls down to his waist.
His words rain down and swiftly pierce my soul;
I taste his persuasion all over me.
I watch him happily crawl in the filth
of his manifested imagination.
The spirit of lust drips from his willing lips
as a starless night hollows out his eyes.
He incites me to rest beneath his sky
so that I can freely fantasize.
I taste his passion as I lick my lips.
I surrender to my new compulsion.
The elixir I seek springs forth from many,
and I watch as shadows roll over me.
There is no stranger standing in place.
In the mirror, I only see my face.
The spirit of lust drips from my lips
as a joyless night hollows out my eyes.
The Jaws of Temptation
Temptation's handmaiden lays a veil over my mind;
I am covered by a universe free from the gravity
of a prudish mankind.
Curiosity blasts me into this space but not before
social decency can tether itself to my body;
I fly as if in a dream but remain awake.
My heart thumps wildly in my throat and beats
itself against the cage; I swallow the beat
as it rages to the tune of my conscience.
The beat falls to its knees within me and kneels
in the pit of my stomach; I feel my anxious heart
rock like a nervous ship on an angry sea.
Amorous eyes melt and drip like candles and bind
to me like wax to a wrist; I choose to be helpless,
and I choose to be devoured.
Temptation opens its jaws and swallows my spirit;
I sink into this moment of carnal truth and kneel
in its pit. I rock myself in the stomach of lust.
Chimera
Like a diamond in God's eye,
the moon shines; its light covers
the sleeping Earth.
The moon watches from afar,
as we drift freely
through the sea of night.
Our souls shine like newborn stars,
unaccustomed to the dark,
unaccustomed to our light.
Tonight, she speaks softly,
though her words are far too heavy
to be carried away by the night air.
She falls like a divine being,
sinking from the heavens
into my earthly soul.
She, loving me like a soul mate,
charges forward like a saint,
to save me from my dark fate.
She carries her truth like a candle;
the sparks throw light into my shadows,
revealing an antiquated field of battle.
My sanity loses its footing,
plunging me into the ghastly mouth
of the chimera.
Swallowed by this fantasy,
my humanity watches as two armies vie
for spiritual supremacy.
The soul in me steadies the battle land
to carry the force of The Lion:
he who walks with a mane of lambs.
The soul in me dusts the land like a mantle,
seducing the greedy eyes of the wolf:
he who skulks with a cloak of jackals.
I watch helplessly as my light flickers,
bending and twisting to the will
of the ones lost in their bitter war.
I blow out the flame and watch
as her truth dissipates,
waiting for the night to consume me.
My Eyes Would Rather
Scrape the Floor
I stand before you, hopelessly humbled
by the foul stench of my shame.
You sit before me, clearly crumbling
under the weight of your disgrace.
The room is saturated with silence
as we mourn the passing of love.
We bow our heads; we seek forgiveness;
we abhor what we have become.
My eyes lift and fall deep into your gaze;
I find myself locked in a trance.
I am lifted from Earth into your space
to witness our doomed romance.
The universe hastily stirs the stars
into wicked constellations.
Feuding lovers, now feuding beasts at war,
charge toward their own destruction.
The constellation of Cancer, I am
the crab tearing into your hide.
The constellation of Aries, you ram
into the shell where my soul hides.
We madly endeavour to win this fight;
we lose, which ignites the last spark,
and we explode into fiery light,
before melting into the dark.
Our universe now mangled by war,
broken stars are all that remain.
I lower my head; my eyes scrape the floor;
I cannot bear to see this pain.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Conversations with Skeletons by Kirk DeMatas Copyright © 2012 by Kirk DeMatas. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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