Mid-day blues

 I live in a battered body--battered by time, by illnesses, by accidents, by men I loved in the past. My body is mine, but sometimes, feels like a stranger, sometimes an enemy. Still, my best friend. I was thinking about how the closest someone else comes to knowing or cherishing your body are the following people (and in pecking order):

1. Your mother

2. Your lovers

3. Masseuse at different times

Children probably appear at the end of this pecking order. They depend on your body while young, but never really grow to know it, cherish it. As you age, they might even think of your body as something they owe filial piety to and not more. 

Not sure why I was thinking about all this, but this morning, I felt like I was brimming with sadness and so decided to have some fun writing a vacancy announcement. It's the latest one on the next post. But here's a stray thought:

Today, I feel like I'm a line

broad, uneven 

drifting through the noise

the chatter at teatime

the need to say, to say

I'm a line, that lands nowhere.

to the cockles of your heart

When we get to the part 

where we fight

I’m not up in arms 

But I close.  And

like cactus 

grow my defenses, as I turn into 

 liquid within.

And there really is nothing of us.

Because we/are me.

We are 

everything my mind has grown.

We are us:

fluid. Fighting shy of your nihilism. 

night

night opens and shuts

like a warm generous mouth

i slip in 

and out again—

it closes

ive had a taste of the supple

the dark

the blankless, that is a street with building blocks 

and the whirring sounds of fury

the fury circumvents

and comes to a sudden standstill 

then there’s chaos

night has transformed

into an abyss where words get mistaken for signs

here, songs get translated to sirens 

we wade against time to the banks of memory

night was brief 

but real

and so is its reflection 

it has left me coiling back into my foetus self for now

inside it, i retch a little

i writhe

i spread my fists open and grab what light enters space between my fingers

i draw them around me and hold

the night has sucked and let go one more time

i’m floundering in the aftertaste 

of the softness 

its blank has been as generous as a womb every time 

for now, with my fists clenched—

i breathe 

Just a dream

So, this is how the world looks

coming to its end—

molten

ashen

people rush towards it, 

gathering what is theirs and isn’t 

it’s what we’ve always done—

taken away what is ours,

and isn’t

we kneel in the crimson lava 

and on the purple sands.

there’s no other way to say goodbye 

the sunset gleams weary, 

drowning in its own hue:

now purple, 

now a killer fiery ball

you and I run towards it, too,

kneel thigh-deep in ash

and cup it in our palms;

its what we’ve always done— taken

then you attempt to kiss my mouth 

this, 

while the world smelts around us

i’m an image of myself in my mind,

turning away from you for a lone moment.

I want to watch.

everything I know in me of life and creation 

is exploding and crumbling 

outside the window, 

the world is a melting horizon of purple 

and crimson and violet

 and then blue

tearing

it would be easier
to come apart
altogether

this constant tearing
i cannot stand

i miss you

you are caught
in my breathing
like absence

Final scene

I always thought our exit would be as graceful
as the first scene
you set the stage
on a day the sun was warm
and the rain wanted to batter us down
just a little bit
you exit on your own again
leaving me to my
own denouement.

By the sludge

The river is a sludge where we stand.
We lean against each other near its banks.
When no cars pass, you place your palm on the small of my back.
I lean in to draw your breath into mine.
The lights flash again and we quickly come apart.

The story of our lives.

Moved away

The house is finally quiet today, with much of the moving done. Dust is beginning to settle on things again.
I miss the quiet of the greens and the sound of the birds and the dogs in the garden. There is no garden here. Only a small patch of lawn, where Chorri pees, because she needs the green as an inspiration to answer nature's call.
I hear the sound of Ring Road buses here and it makes me feel like I've come so far away from home.

break me down

what have i got to offer you

but this heart break?

faces

We are still doing it
-- staring at one another,
but wrangling now
instead of floating away into
nothingness
like we did the day we were
falling
          in love

I spot hints of grey
in your beard,
you ignore
the grey
in my pubic hair
--we're too old to pay attention
to small details now

we only remember
how we hurt
each other

on a day of rain

We came home
on a day like this
when the sky was overcast
and heavy with tears

we came home
on a day
when the world was crumbling
because you and i could not gather
the fragments of each other

fumes

1.
all reason is lost

there is nothing

we are nothing

we are only fumes

burnt

of what was



2.
and as another day comes to a close,
i'm filled with you
like i am every minute of my life

ellipsis

i wonder what you do with my absence.

i can never stand yours.

Ghost

Henrik Aarrestad Uldalen

Haunt me




without

presence

we are torment...

together

or

a p a r t

the silences are always about you
so is chatter

you slip in and out of conversations
made with strangers,
you affix yourself
somewhere inside of me
-- the part of my body that doesn't really exist.

you become
the part of me
they call soul

torment,
i wish you suffering
just like the one i am to live with
because you are forever
only a memory

you and i

so, maybe
some lives are meant to be
a p a r t
andyetalwaystogether

i tremble

the night coils around me,
turning me into a hyperbole
of darkness
it spills
through the curtains
slashing shadows
across the room
lit in anticipation
of what may happen
when the fault lines
below
decide to do shift,
leaving the trees shivering
houses swaying
and hearts
forever wrecked

the night
rattles my soul
eroding me
and crushing me
under this unimaginable weight
of what will forever be broken
because you drifted away

stolen kisses?

what is there to give you?
  words again?
even as you held me close
i could only think
of how you smelled
like some wet things
i dreamed of
as a child
maybe things i touched
in a dream
i never wanted to let go of

i never want to let you go

so...

this has become my place to go to, again
like it was all those years
you were gone

now, maybe this is my place for good