I know I am invisible,
yet the redundant surprise
of not being seen
Can still marvel and amaze.
Through icicles, and bicycles
Blows like wild swans in circus
Angling wing-
A blaze and shivering ember song
To northstraddling Apollo descendant.
She comes to me in sputters and affectations,
Inconstant, courtesan interruptions,
In Picasso and Aquinas-
Liverspots on the cahier;
My brain,
Ash smeared and coffeestained.
I cannot see the future,
But I can read the past,
And know its future.
And deduce.
Laughing, then we ply the to
And crying still we cross the fro,
Like Marco Polo, to Changdu
Do I go
By the light of the eternal flame,
Drained.
Through canyons stamped like swastikas,
In linen.
Across wastes with amnesiac kings,
Beneath creased velvet
Milksprayed heaven.
Simonides, we awake trente-neuf
And in the dark wood commuting our sentence,
And measure by an elegant horology
How the infinite sets an egg timer.
To stalemate, whiskey,
And second hand shoes, we begin,
Spewed by beggars.
To debt, failure, and regret
We end.
Cold.
With no deathbed devil bothering
To bargain for our souls.
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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This one really starts at S3. What is before and after is good, but that middle is terrific in its authenticity and uniqueness.
"She comes to me in sputters and affectations,
Inconstant, courtesan interruptions,
In Picasso and Aquinas-
Liverspots on the cahier;"
YES! -
We're all richer people for the journeys we take, no matter how many times we take them, regardless of where they take us. This is reminiscent of another piece...maybe a couple...of yours I remember from a couple of years ago in theme and articulation, to some degree. That said, it's still utterly original and beautiful. I'm glad you're still posting.
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In each apparently un breached wall there are cracks imperceptible at first sight but real and "nature" has this insatiable apetit to fill up all void...
and yeah maybe curiosity killed the cat but their specie in not extinct.
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The most useful medicines are often unpleasing to the taste. Those who
are oppressed by their own reputation will, perhaps, not be comforted by
hearing that their cares are unnecessary. But the truth is that no man
is much regarded by the rest of the world. He that considers how little
he dwells upon the condition of others, will learn how little the
attention of others is attracted to himself. While we see multitudes
passing before us, of whom, perhaps, not one appears to deserve our
notice, or excite our sympathy, we should remember that we likewise are
lost in the same throng; that the eye which happens to glance upon us is
turned in a moment on him that follows us, and that the utmost which we
can reasonably hope or fear is, to fill a vacant hour with prattle, and
be forgotten.
Samuel Johnson, The Rambler
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"Beneath creased velvet
Milksprayed heaven."..... just one reason why i can't resist you :-)
~ w -
I think we may have tread the same paths, at one time or another. I dunno, I think Marco Polo, I think Venice. Picasso in Peggy's place there, alongside twin Braques.
First time I've ever seen cahier rhymed with coffestained. It's good.
Meanings somewhat obscure, it's hard to offer critique. The writing is mature, that being a good thing.
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Let me on, Pirate, this Ship of Fools.
Be back .. running out the door.
Know, you help fill the Void.
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