things.

[starkyld]

just assorted pieces...none of it is particularly recent...and a good bit is fairly abstract. sorry, i'm obtuse.

********************

groundhog haven--

the wall is my father.
this stillness, blankness calls to me
with the neverending advance
and retreat
of these fickle corners.
why will they not rest?
the tile--
a pit of microscopic voids.
the spackled snowdrops--
tango and dip to an unheard melody.
everything blurs and twirls:
i can make no distinction.
little lowly leech clinging
to this cerebral mass
and colouring my world in shades of swirling grey.

******************************

tomato sandwich with a side of james--

i fall into the abyss of the trendy.
hair trimmed at an inch, monochromatic starkness
veiling subservience to us deviants
peons
ordering around these futile figures
with their vinagrettes and proscuitto
plate brought out
the flesh, the fullness, resting beside the parsley
with this inch trimmed bristle
beggar, fish, king--little hath changed
from this communion of polonius.
plasticity defies gender barriers,
ethnic boundaries, extending this
sucking plate through the
carp-lined image of humanity:
payment for a priestess.
i am undeserving of this worship
and did not call for it
but the world was not made by my rules
and these factions are blind to my acceptances.
so, unnervingly, i become one of them,
those paltry, pompous czars
pummeling these vassals beneath my protestations.

**********************

it is the colour of
cranberries
crushed into the tangerine of
the rising sun
(this incandescent globe which escapes nocturnal vixens)
and the colour of
innocent passion,
tongue sliding across uneven teeth
with trepidation and fervor.
it is the colour of loves which
once past
can ne'er be gained again,
as passion itself is mired in the making,
and the idealism of youth
yields way to yearnings of comfort
of solace
of petting zoos and ramen noodles and
all the trappings of settled life.
ophelia drowned long ago
and with her perished the real,
the true,
the conception of love and empathy as
overwhelming authority
rather than a slight-attainable glimmer.
and as this glimmer cracks,
and melts,
and withers,
these new yearnings come floating over
and eradicate the etchings
from the sand.

[dwim]

I like these poems starkyld. Especially the first one there. I'd like to read more if you got 'em.

------------------
There's loneliness in the radios...