Sunset Canyon - Fox Warren
this poem, much like the song associated with it, holds many of the hours of questioning, searching, and deep-diving that upturned my sense of ease through the past year. this never-ending search for something elsewhere.
sunset canyon was playing on repeat while I wrote this piece, and if you're willing to give it a listen, I might just interest you in another writer's work as well.
I want to find meaning in the suffering.
I want there to be a reason,
I want this experience to transform me.
Change the entirety of my DNA.
Drop layers of old skin into the wind.
This constant pursuit of changing
Spins my perceptions with the Suns.
So much so
That it’s been four years
And I find that I’m still only
Changing around what you did to me.
Shoving it into my own depths
And letting my form
Swallow around it.
Frantically pursuing a revolution
In light of maddening dreams
And old songs I hear in coffee shops.
I want to understand where the words come from.
Who is speaking through these works?
These pieces of something unspeakable?
In immediacy I say myself.
It seems like an aching I no longer remember
Chooses to guide my hands,
My tired eyes.
How do you recall such things?
How do you name them,
When the language they speak has been lost on me?
Like the holes in the walls in older homes,
Or the thing that sneaks up and blocks my throat.
Where did my f*cking spine go?
Because it feels like it’s all but entirely gone.
These thoughts, too, shift in shape,
Absorb and swallow and devour.
The wounds that exist
Just beyond the veil
Of what I’m allowed to touch, but not feel.
The sensory overload
And little-too-numb feeling that eats at
The skin on my lips &
Smears tears into the corner of my eye.
I’m trying so f*cking hard to build something right now.
These older wounds have me convinced
With this idea that I’m everything but worthy.
This one and the one I dream of,
And of love,
Keeps me unplugged & docile,
Instrumental pieces in the occasional breakdown.
What I think I’m trying to say is,
I want to understand what makes these things
Abstract obscenities to my mind.
Where the pieces fail to fit,
The message fails to find resonance.
“I love myself,
I love myself,
I love myself.”
“Sweet as sugar,
Sweet as sugar,
Sweet as sugar, and then some.”
Pour divinity down into the frame of my body,
Care for it,
And visualize it flooded with light.
Yet, each of my steps resound with a hollow thud,
I feel porcelain thin on cloudy days,
And spiteful, old words
Creep up through all the goodness I’ve tried to create.
Like a whirlwind I find myself back at square one.
I think I deprived myself of light
From a young age.
Worried that it would hurt my eyes
And bring me more aches.
Yet the entire time
My insides were caught in
An everlasting autumnal state.
What can grow from such huddled waste?
I’ve tried to accustom myself with the sun
As the years have spun ‘round me.
Bathe in it like cool waters,
Let it break over my own horizons
And cleanse out the shadows that
Filed themselves away
Under my bed and at the back of the closet.
And in all my years,
That continue to come in swim-storm style,
I feel as though I’m ready to live in honey light.
I want to understand how to say this:
For an eternity I have told myself
That I may be little close to nothing.
And a man like you,
A love like yours,
The smallest and meanest parts of my soul.
You have redefined a forever
In a new language of loving
That I had no knowledge of prior.
And everything that came before
This serene picture
Fades off into the summer night,
Every face I’ve ever worn
To keep me warm.
No need for them in the light.