in the dissonant stillness
entirely unwell, depressed
perhaps or more accurately
avidly lost, her distressed damsel
eyes wide & carefully shadowed
hiding the edge of rage & still
waiting & waiting,
the aging ing�nue
arranges herself
gracefully across
the ground
ready for rescue
(me)
sep 99
· · · · · ·
... i have thoughts about the damsel, but no time to compose them. later?
saturday
late in may
5:48am (dawn)
:my life
in ruins in
silence surrounding
the sibilant stroke
of the pen speaking
in tunnel tones
inside my bones
echoing &
measuring my
hollows while
the conversion
continues
:marrow into
oblivion at the
speed of the sound of
someone scrawling across
the abyss in the wind all the while
waiting for the images
to resolve into
one
:vivid & visceral &
ultimately irrefutable, it is
the absence of love & it sends the pen
skidding into a storytelling
about a morning
i am calling
"the end"
(me)
27MAY95
of myth & women (of me, i mean)
the goddess of mistaken identity
invented the mirror
claimed it gave her
clarity
focus
perspective
· · ·
she lied
· · ·
but her beauty
is new
& it is
her own only
truth
· · ·
she is sleek glossy
pale preoccupied fearful &
not free
· · ·
victim
princess
sorceress
nemesis
albatross
bitch
· · ·
companion burden
scapegoat misfit
instigator martyr
· · ·
a sacrificial visionary & a
danger to society in spite of her
relatively infinite insignificance
· · ·
she is cynical habitual
illogical indifferent inconsistent
& believes exclusively in
impossibility
· · ·
she begins
her soliloquy
as if it matters,
impassioned:
· · ·
"there are
seven circles",
she cries,
"which one
is this?"
· · ·
she is unanswered ranting
reclusive obsessive impulsive
hysterical lyrical
· · ·
her precarious stance & her
stubborn ambivalence are her
only sources of continuity &/or stability
& amidst all of this
deliberate nonsense, her
survival is evidently
unintentional & any
appearance of
wholeness is
purely physical
· · ·
her body is
an open book
& any man
of letters
or science
or fiction
may know her biblically
wicked hunger
(an addiction)
· · ·
fallen woman
with & without
child, wounded &
wanton & haunted &
hunted
wild
· · ·
inside is
the outlaw,
a criminal in her
element
desperate reckless
beguiling & sly
· · ·
she offers an excess of
complexity so she can be
misunderstood &
as a result remain
alone unknown & as such
much maligned
· · ·
always also she is
malingering in
love in the
inane & profound
isolation in which
she is sovereign
abandoned profane serene &
substantially less than
sane
· · ·
she performs portrays
pretends poses &
plays her part gamely &
then
in an uncharacteristic outburst of
extemporaneous honesty
reveals herself as
the villainess of
this piece,
· · ·
a paradox:
· · ·
she is, she says,
no goddess
· · ·
she is, she confesses,
just the mistress
of misogyny
· · ·
(me)
17MAR97
in a winsome whisper
i invite you inside
my story
& offer you forever
the wry curl of my
slow smile illustrates this
prehensile tale as i
twirl it tellingly
around your perceptions
& give you
visions
& love.
& this is limitless love
i give you,
untouched by any
temporal or physical
boundary,
& yet it can be
expressed to perfection
in the flesh, yes.
& yes
of course we are
incapacitated by
the intensity!
primitive rhythms
relentless within us
&
yes, these are
impossible promises
we are making
but they are made
with words & motions
which describe the
gentle curve of infinity
perfectly
as far as i can see.
-(me)
25 AUG 95
actual teenage poetry. enter at risk of angst.
