June 2011
7 posts
Inter
There is something eerily superficial about these women with alien eyes wide apart in their faces. Of course not when they are underage. And ‘sweetheart’. It sounds strange. So many things feel removed now. Before they were happy to be objects that I need not have worried about. And now there’s a necessity to engage. To watch what’s going on outside my head and decide...
The Dancers (During a Great Battle, 1916)- Edith...
The floors are slippery with blood: The world gyrates too. God is good That while His wind blows out the light For those who hourly die for us – We still can dance each night.
The music has grown numb with death – But we will suck their dying breath, The whispered name they breathed to chance, To swell our music, make it loud That we may dance - may dance.
We are the dull blind...
Embryo
The wind is blowing hard between my outstretched toes. My pinkie looks like it’ll detach if I strain any harder. I can feel cramp creeping into the arch of my sole, so I tug at the end of my foot. What a joke ballerina I must look. My bones barely fit properly, disregarding the junk hanging from them. Poisonous junk. The stone beneath me is rough, spattered with tiny, sharp stones, pieces of...
Dulk
I unstuck my throat and immediately sensed, that we, too, do not know if we are mortal. I had faith in your godbed and you licked it dry; powdered white bones burnt by forest fires, leaving circles of ash kicked by hunting dogs. Their white teeth gnashed while I lay on the ground looking up, there’s nothing to see but the ceiling beyond the man with the infant in his skull, in his ribcage,...
Blissful Yearning
Apparently, since I gained relative freedom from essay, I have become more inclined to post other people’s poetry than my own. This is Blissful Yearning by Goethe and it made me cry. I’m posting it for several people who absolutely terrify me but who I love endlessly.
Tell this to no-one but the wise,
For the masses will just ridicule it:
I would praise the living thing
That...
What the Thunder Said
Who is the third who always walks beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
- But who is that on the other side of you?
