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Thursday, August 25, 2005

poetry, my dear (string quartets)

string quartet 1

i’m afraid to close my eyes…
though bach and his strings
tell me to
lull me to…
close my eyes
and see you opening
those lids
that hide…
a humanity so simply beyond my own
i cringe and think myself too dirty
too dirty.

string quartet 2

i’m afraid to close my eyes…
and see you opening
those lids
in the pools of my mind..
that countenance
that stare
that glare…
i’m afraid to close my eyes.
to find you there.

it’s not you…
but simply the effect of a presence
that deems itself near unbearable
unbearable to the white dog
that’s within me.

i close my eyes.
the black dog feeds
feeding on the encompassing white…
i don’t die.
i live.
only to find myself gorged to death.

i’m afraid to close my eyes.
your stare will kill me.
i will die.

string quartet 3

these strings sing of death…
of love
and death
and the dying of one’s heart.
die my heart,
i want you cold.
i want you unwanting to behold
the aura of him
that makes you warm.
i want you stiffened.
i want you cold.

i want you unwanting
of what you want you’re told.
i want you looking ahead…
i want you all-focused
you need to imagine
being not attention-fed.
not to the world sold.

i want my dear heart…
i want it stiffened…
i want it cold!

http://pat.pixelled.com

Posted by inktrip at 12:22 AM

Thursday, August 18, 2005

untitled..again...

a dance of severed red wings
ensues on a gray park.

fragments of them
collect at my feet
But the metro aide sweeps them
away in eight-beat.

and the garbage man,
taking his time,
will come to collect
on Sunday yet
a trashbin
of bright ember words.


--chai
(haven't written poetry in a long while. watchatink?)

Posted by inktrip at 6:00 PM

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

...

When?

—Did the world begin to spin?
When i decided i was it’s queen?
And perhaps, maybe, didn’t need your help?
Because his zest for life attracts me…
My zest for life, though, has no clear limit—
And that need is near, if not really, deadly.
Now… i’ve come upon the proverbial end
The rope, now, is too tight around my body;
Phlegm that’s escaping my lips, evidence of the decay…
As i decay the ropes strive to keep me vivified.
They do their job… oh so beautifully—
Oh, so painfully.
Whimpering… wanting his attention
Yet you know what i need…
Careless, impulsive, self-direction…
I’m enslaved by the wants i heed.
Ain’t it sad? —That i should be:
More fragmented than truly free?
These ropes are my freedom…
My perimeter of life.
Such peaceful coexistence;
Between heaven and strife.
Woe my insistence; woe my blind greed…
Woe my fear of facing my very own sin’s seeds!

Indignant at a term!

What is repression?–what is a rose?
How could i let it keep me
—on my tiny toes?
Such a word is but a word
And needn’t cause much worry.
I shall not become a fiend; a thief!—
Who sees the light and scurries.

http://pat.pixelled.com

Posted by inktrip at 12:50 AM