I’d much rather believe she’s thundering about up there
than admit that all I hear are moans and echoes of empty
halls—echoes of how she blindsided me on my broadside.
Without crude outlines or a jagged blurb of farewell. Just
fell from my ear, slipped down my lobe, rolled off my shoulder
into lost forever. Just spitting out an image of June
(twin in her mirror) then vanished like the heat, leaving
my head cold. She left me rummaging. Her abandoned
rooms are haunting, and I don’t possess the reach needed
to reclaim those boundaries. I imagine she’d say certain memories
should be swallowed by some kind of mucous beast dwelling
in my pipes, but she kept my maps and it’s all up and down
to me. Wish her leftovers would sink down to me, like her sheets
with whatever little she shed before falling out to drown
in my shower or dense clouds or in another woman’s brain fluid.
I miss her calluses, her mania, her dialogue—my internal monologue.
Author notes
talk about a brain freeze
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Nice, reminds me of Latin poetry where at one point in their (the poets) lives, they dedicate something to a muse of something.
"Just fell from my ear, slipped down my lobe, rolled off my shoulder into lost forever." That's a great line, how it "rolled" onto the next two lines as if it really did roll off and got lost.
Nice job =)
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Calliope... goddess of epic poetry.
So, your muse has deserted you. Don’t worry, I have seen the future, and she will return bringing with her your internal monologue and some very fine poetry.
Regards, Peter
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Hi Poetess I have been meaning to take a really good look at this poem ever since you posted it but time is my enemy. I promise I'll be back this weekend.
Kind regards,
Peter
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