Posted by marko on 1/15/2007, 9:09 am i slept ten hours. i was exhausted. there was nowhere else i’m a lotus caught in a whirlpool. i’ve given up the fight. you told me you fell in love with me the first time there are spaces between us that will never be traveled, scene 147 the blue flame growl has turned to faint glow whispering scene 148 i rhyme all the possibilities. words yet to be admitted things can get ugly fast. a reckless trigger under double-
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scene 143
i could have gone. yet i don’t feel rested. i can barely
keep my head up. my neck snaps & startles me awake. my
legs ache. i must have been running from something all
night. i prop my head up on my right hand, my elbow
planted on the table. i wrap the fingers of my left hand
around a black pen. i strain to hold on. i’m concentrating
so hard on the physical aspects that the words are coming
from somewhere other than my intellect. it’s not an
experiment. it’s not a technique i developed or stumbled
upon. i don’t believe my subconscious has taken over.
i think it’s tapped out as well. i can’t make sense of this.
only the feeling i’m shutting down. & i suspect that
someone, or something, has already taken my place. it’s
waiting patiently. which i could never do.
scene 144
it’s not that i know i’m licked, but my limbs are spent
with futility. my mind listens to my body, but my body
no longer listens to my mind. i feel like i could have
dropped out of anywhere. so there’s no way of knowing
what i’ve lost. from far away everything looks black.
it appears to be standing still. then it reaches a certain
distance & takes on a shape. maybe this was its form
all along. or maybe it happened on the way, suddenly,
unexpectedly. there’s no way of knowing unless you
traveled alongside it the entire trip. the speed at which
you approached is evident in your heart rate, in how
difficult it is to catch your breath. though you’re not really
catching your breath—you’re waiting for it to slow down.
a lotus because i’m so forgetful, & i never qualified as a
lily of the field or valley. a whirlpool because that’s what
it is. i could call it something else, but that wouldn’t
change anything.
scene 145
we danced. i’ve never considered myself a good dancer.
i would hesitate to leave my drink alone at the table
until a dozen earlier loosened me from my seat. even
then i felt uncomfortable with my body, too self-conscious
to fall into the beat. yet i never felt inhibited when i
made love. i always slipped right into the groove,
so harmonious, so confident. so i found your words
confusing. i don’t know if you remember, but the first
time you said you loved me, we were making love.
i don’t remember the first time i told you. if it was before
or after this. i suppose this paints me as narcissistic,
self-absorbed. but what if i loved you for so long it
couldn’t fit in a time frame. maybe it had something to do
with the fact i was trying so hard to please you despite my
lack of fluidity & moves. that i at least tried to overcome
my shyness, my inability to leave myself out of it. & maybe
you waited to tell until i was in my element, where i could
be so many others.
scene 146
never crossed, either in life or in death. there is longing
that brings is no closer together, though it should, though
i believe it’s meant to. there are words that never connect.
words we speak & write & sing & cry out but no one
ever hears. there’s isn’t so much as a nod of recognition
to give us hope. there are moments so pure, so filled
with truth, & yet we stare straight ahead at nothing in
particular, numb, unable to feel any of it. there are
questions never answered, & answers to questions never
asked. shots in the dark & overwhelmingly bright revelations
for want of a more reasonable description, that have nothing
to do with clarity. that are beyond intellective reasoning,
beyond impulsive spills rattling inside an empty place
which we have no name for, so we assume it to be fate
shoved down our throats, & there’s nothing we can do to
stop it. red hot coals that get stuck halfway down. & it
hurts so much to say anything, so we remain silent. &
sadly enough, we think we hear someone say—leave him
alone. that’s the way he wants it.
ember, & the red flower has withered inside us. it’s almost
gone. i’d do anything to get it back, but i don’t want anything
to do with it ever again. it’s growing colder. it will be dead
soon. it will leave nothing of itself behind. only we will
be left. all alone. not knowing where to turn. cursing ourselves
for letting this happen. no excuse. it’s not the first time. we
knew it was an unfaithful lover. we knew it cared nothing
for us. we knew it would take part of us with it. we have less
that can be stolen. but we still feel it every time we’re taken
advantage of, every time we’re robbed of our dignity, every
time we lose. i’m trying in vain to figure out what i have
left, & will it be enough for one more time.
into the literary canon for reasons i’ll never understand.
because definitions don’t matter here. that isn’t the point
of the exercise. i rhyme because i can. perhaps because
i must, though i would never own up to that. it sounds
like a game. a game that children play. but i’m no child.
i’m far from innocent. this game has no winners or losers.
i rhyme for rhyme’s sake. sometimes i pick up a guitar
or banjo or bang on a piano to accompany myself. i rarely
write it down, though i’m a compulsive scribbler. if i do,
i destroy it. i can’t leave evidence lying around. where
could i stash it that it wouldn’t be found eventually. i
might be dead by then. so you might say it wouldn’t
matter any more. & you’d be right. it wouldn’t matter
to me. but isn’t that selfish? isn’t that more self-indulgence
dragged over to the other side? it’s egotistical verbiage
twisted free on logic. it serves absolutely no purpose.
or is it trying to tell me so i can tell thee about a deity,
a trinity, a number three that can be difficult to see
for treat as dangerously even if pressed wafer thin
in between & within.
scene 149
crossed influence. normally you couldn’t knock off
a bottle from thirty yards. but this one in a million
finds a target because fate demands it. wouldn’t have
it any other way. & maybe the lord himself steadied
your hand while you stumbled in another direction.
the fact is, it did kick a few inches toward heaven. a
loud, unexpected crack that should startle you but it
deosn’t, & that’s enough reason to believe you’re
at least partially responsible. & you begin to move in
confused manner, & you always knew death was shaped
like this. there were times you’d start to trace it carefully
but you’d stop yourself. turn it into something else. &
sometimes that something else was so beautiful you
found it impossible to remember, because it couldn’t
have begun with any ugly thoughts. but this time you
realize you’ve been fooling yourself. this time you’ll
be unable to forget.
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