It seemed to me I had entered into the middle of the conversation
with bleeding cuticles and a bleeding throat ever clouded.
What were they saying?
My mind trembled like tea in a cup as a train goes by
while I struggled for the right words/shifted through the sand
in my brain for a sunshine-pretty little phrase.
They wanted me to respond: looking expectantly at my knit-knotted brows
then drifting away in the Dark Sea of Glowing Algae.
I remember sand dollars
“You’ve said that before”
I remember the smoke and the sweat and how sweet those things
smelled through the adrenaline and the screaming
“You’ve said that before”
I pick up and savor imagistic impressions; and they’re all
zoomed-in and mixed with stage lights and flinging, jerky
movements and the tigers in my chest.
They’re still looking at me, but behind them the curtain has dropped
and I’m watching the silhouette instead. I’m watching his expression.
Author notes
After-concert exhaustion. Delirious half-remembered vulnerable subconcious grey-at-the-edges-of-your-vision fatigue.
I rather like this one. Sorry for the lack of commenting to those who care. I'll get on it.
Written September 22nd, 2005
What did you think
Comments
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I really liked this too! Full of confused imagery and wavering adrenaline levels, kinda reminded me of The Band's "Stage Fright".
Some memorable metaphors - the teacup and the train, 'tigers in my chest, 'knit-knotted brows.... all in all a whirlwind of a poem, with the intriguing 'I'm watching his expression' ending.
Delicious!
PJ
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