February 08, 2009
Untitiled and probably incomplete
Sometimes at night I hear
disconcerting dreams moan in the empty, blank space
above my clown-round head, moan the low growl
of tussling cats, or growl like neighbors on that thin side
of clumpy plaster heaving and catching gasps
and good-god I'd rather not hear that, not alone,
exhausted, plaster swelling like one more
shuddering heart flaking dust, or opened palms
pushing the wooly-thick blackness in on me,
until I feel compelled to vow unwarranted silence
or chastity, broken on my next good day.
Some days I'm still ruminating long past noon
over the last nights disconcerting dream
like it was an unsatisfactory last meal,
wondering why I faltered when I flew, why that celebrity--
reenacting his warrior role--took a bigger beating
than even Hollywood would have allowed,
and why it all should stick in me like sewing pins
pulled deep by the magnetic gravity of melancholy.
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1 comment:
I love this. all of it. The first chunk, I mean.
dreams..above my clown-round head.
that's gorgeous.
the Holywod warrior geting bloodied is lovelt yo me, it's so clean. it's like butter.
I couldn't read beyond gravity of melancholy, cos I was done.
*
I can't take much good poetry at once. Same with music, I'm usually a one song guy, too, if I'm really listening. Then I re-play, re-read, etc.
Don't want to re-open the silly/not silly Venus and Mars thing, at all, but it might be related to... you trying to understand feelings, rather than simply expres them. Maybe a woman muses and mulls for LONGER than a man does/wants to, to vastly speculate.
But the first chunk, I an tell u, I think is wonderful, and if I had a poetry magazine, I'd publish it. I bet Raven Chronicles would, too, if you sent it to them, I mean, they should. I mean, if that was your thing right now.
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