Whence to commence?
From where the memory serves
or from an unborn chapter?
Still in a hazy state of mind,
she is shattered from the intoxication
of the final night.
Screams a big smile
at an unclaimed despair.
Drip, drip, drip.
Bursting into tears.
under the midnight blue.
By the sparkling lakes.
In wine-breath but with sober hopes.
Bleeding from seduction.
Where her little soul
got crushed by the
hands of destiny.
Escaping the dreams.
Nightmares of disconnection.
No colors, no words, not the world
could paint those sad, sad eyes.
The gaze of the fire
in red and black.
In pure denial.
The sweet taste of the nectar;
would she ever forget the pleasure?
See through her.
Wrapped in the shower curtain,
covered by the cold rain.
And then the end.
Something just died
in a tragedy
Toronto – February 11, 2012
In utter darkness,
around it all;
above all times,
the bluebirds are chanting the same old songs.
The dragging days;
the drunken dawns.
I witnessed the race of the alarm clock
with the secret nights;
then begged for nothing but the tricks of the light,
waiting for the red rose to reveal.
I sensed the truth of your lips.
A thousand sips of 1997,
not event the slightest glance,
will turn us back to last December.
Happy first blog post of twelve twelve.
… So tonight we read this brilliant poem, The Chateau Harware, by John Ashbery in our workshop and I thought to share it with my lovely readers, to whom I’ve been unfaithful:
It was always November there. The farms
Were a kind of precinct; a certain control
Had been exercised. The little birds
Used to collect along the fence.
It was the great “as though,” the how the day went,
The excursions of the police
As I pursued my bodily functions, wanting
Neither fire nor water,
Vibrating to the distant pinch
And turning out the way I am, turning out to greet you.
Stay tuned for more (and even more).