i was told to have a festival within me
a sort of unexplained hoopla
but inside me it is stoppered
and nothing good is festering
progressive banter, skin tight schedules, self made deadlines,
g, wake up early, love life
i cannot channel the spirit that will
help me look forward to paying bills
it will be done in the timely manner as one hopes ,
with no beating of the drum
nothing to smile about, really.o for it
i have undressed a thousand times
but i still do not know myself naked
why should i, when all i have done
is plaster my image on to a canvas too good
for the likes of my oozing pores
i could scrub out all that is earthly within me
and i’d still wake with soft dirt in my mouth
bound to places, times, memories, maggots
so what is id, if not a tooth rotting precisely where it should
gyrating against the pelvis of ignorantia
i thrust the impressions i have of myself
underneath fervent currents
and carry on,
dirt in my cavities,
dust in my eyes.
i’m a mess these days
and these days are melting away
like candles on the back porch
in the heat of july
it’s only june still
i’ve leaped ahead of myself
i’ve made notes and revised
and welcomed the crippling fear a few weeks early
it comes with perks, the subconscious montage,
it comes with the tune for a morbid little lullaby :
who will die, who will die in july
father, step father, friend, feline?
who will die, die and die,
somber, arid july?
It’s so strange that the people I’m most comfortable with also make me feel like they’re going to go away from me at any given moment. They make time feel like a vortex that they like to edge closer and closer to just to keep me on my toes, no, to keep my heart pounding in my mouth. It’s an existential game. “How Long Will It Be Until She Stops Dreading?”
After the panic
the madness, our madness
hold me tight
choke it out of me
strangle the fear right out of me
lines of blue blur around my neck
the room goes from small to smaller to fade to black.
is that soft suggestive breeze
that utters itself
through the mouth
of a friend
who means no harm
Mind the gap between his
two front teeth
as I lean in to kiss him
out of habit.
A force stronger than
the tickle of a breeze
“The kiss, it’s only in your head, “
whispers the wind,
“Memory is just as suggestive, no?”
Memory trickles down into my skin,
embeds in my nerves,
gets to every tip and follicle
Mind the gap
between his presence and his memory
As you lean in to kiss him,
the fog engulfs and
you fall right through.
If I had to see you again
I wouldn’t, simply out of fear.
Would we still have it?
That soft fluid burning on a thread
each end tied to the pit of our stomachs.
And what if it isn’t there anymore?
I would perish all over again, I would mourn,
I would turn to black and mould.
And then there would be the other questions.
Did it take a marriage to forget me or just an afternoon?
Did you have to exorcise my memory and feed them
to your demons?
And where do you keep the carcass?
Mine sleeps beside me, snuggled,
as you did,
almost every night.