the stairs rise
steeper than an Episcopal steeple
to an attic where
an electric crackle floats on air
filled with laptop internet connections
the smell of mothballs and medial triangles
old sweaters worn braless
dead prayers swept beneath a bed
my preoccupation with you proceeds
without caution I dream
late night musicals in which you star
a wild young Momix dancer
a voice filled with melodious despair
my legs tremble as outside my window
petunias bloom sirens wail
dogs howl at the moon
parrots screech downstairs
you remain unobtainable
I will leave soon
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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God I miss your poetry, and I am a complete lame ass because I don't think I have anything particular to say aside from that. Which isn't very nice of me, know it's not.
Your imagery is so... fucking great that I am too wrapped up in watching the poem to say anything effective. I have this loop that keeps spooling on and out of my head and I want to write you fairytales based on the imagery.
There is a loneliness here, a feeling of being the only person in a world full of people. There is that much I can say as far as how I read it.
I've not said much here, but maybe I managed something like coherence in my ineffectiveness. -
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thank you, JD. I haven't been here to this site much recently...except to delete about 50 of my poems of mexico. that's because my first book of poetry (Train to Chihuahua and other poems of Mexico) is being published this month. I hang out at myspace most of the time these days. sometimes I miss the old days here.
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wow... im not sure wot this one tis about exactly but it tis an exquisite piece...one of my daughters killed herself last week but i was too fooked up to go to the morgue so i guess thats wot i read into it. a really brilliant write,
hugs,
georgie -
wistful to say the least, and so much internal sound
"steeper than an Episcopal steeple"
that line is pure tongue candy
I love how this says to me, I know it's pointless to dream and yet I do it anyway, in spite of also knowing soon enough I'll wake
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yes, wistful and pointless dreaming pretty well sums it up.
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It has been said, at least once, by a very old, very wise Asian man who looks not entirely unlike Yoda,
"In a poem about unrequited boner
It bad form to not mention the trousers"
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was it the old sweaters worn braless that gave the boner away?
I love how you always get right to the crux of things
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Yay!
I am enamored of entire first verse.
I shall refrain from mischief, yes I will, refrain,
I will.
Perhaps however under that bed will be a box with this poem inside, little enough perhaps, but something.
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thank you kind sir for such enthusiasm. that attic inspired mischief as well as this poem. you would not believe what was under the bed with those dead prayers!
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seeds? hehe
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brilliant last line on the first verse, This screams of want and longing.
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I really appreciate the comment, and the observation. thank you.
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I nearly saw the petunias as sirens... I liked that.
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thanks jan. I appreciate the comment!
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sometimes it is good to consider...
that unobtainable exists within the realm of that which is meant to be...just a thought; awesome write. Tks. P.
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I'll consider that
thanks for the comment!
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Wow, Travis.
This is powerful; seems like New York got to you, huh?
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hahahaha.
pretty transparent poem, huh?
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