The Loneliness of Injun Joe

It's time to retreat again,
To scuttle spiderlike back into
The most private recesses
Of cognative reflection.
In these caverns of conscious thought
These are the rooms that I rarely visit.
Here my darkest secrets lay suppressed.

In this netherworld of self-recrimination
I'll seek refuge in the soul salving
Withdrawal into solitude.

Here I tread upon recollection
Crushed into layers of sentiment
As I weave a disillusioned path through
The sedimental strata of my past.

At the end of this labyrinth of memory
My torch illuminates
The experiences that I've examined,
That I've reshaped into a mythology of self.
Chalk, iron powder, charcoal and berries
Crushed to use to create wierd scenes,
A strange tableaux of cave paintings
That quiver to life in the flickering light.

Here I'll dig through the silt of forgetfulness
To unearth images that I've long suppressed,
That I've wrapped and buried like Kachina dolls
In this, the holiest sanctuary of my soul.

This is the place where I hide aspects of self
That I don't wish the world to see.
A refuge from my wife, my son,
My friends and my parents.
I've locked out all humanity.

Is it perverse of me to retreat,
To withdraw deep into myself,
To compartmentalize my life,
To play Bartleby in such a selfish way
When I've got people who love me?

Loneliness is the damp musty smell
Of brackish water, of our despair
As we weave our way, blind as cave-fish
Through the dark stream that we call "life."

When I finally tire of poring through
My pathetic cache of regrets
By the dimming light of this dying candle,
Will I be able to roll away the stone barrier
That seals this entrance to my cave.

Christ, I'm not.

I'm more like Tom Sawyer's Injun Joe;
Trapped in darkness, thirsty and hungry,
Shut away from the mass of mankind,
Condemned to licking moisture
From the damp walls of my cave,
That false promise of liquid solace that
Leaves just sand and grit on one's tongue.

As my last candle gutters into blackness,
I stand alone in this cold musty room
That's become my silent tomb.

As I bellow my frustrated loneliness
At  indifferent walls,
They only echo my impotent anger
Back at me, taunting me
To cut loose with yet another

Primal scream.