r
                      R      E  
A         d   D               A     e
                        M
                        M
ensconced
m­agically transforming everything i am
shrinking pungent times that shock
a jolt that makes apparent the
          I      
L       lies       E
         S
the tragic muse she swells and fills
                                                        k  ­            p
every sense that confuses and  s            i               s
drawing blood with every breath
a hurt that transcends the depth
of sanity
the boundaries that fate decree
a dwelling that disallows the free
                 R
a      T     rap      A
                  P
until all i do is go round about
a confusion that deepens
the maze that thickens
a black-red ooze that congeals
and seals
the burial grounds of dreams
that steal
the memories of a deeper psyche
that swirl and swarm in our midst
the ghosts of a beaten past.

Vijayalakshmi Harish
23.08.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Step one,
choose your topic.
Likely yourself.
Because what greater
subject could there be?
None
surely.

Step two,
choose an image.
Find something
that can serve
as a metaphor
for you.
Find the rain forest
for instance.
Or perhaps a pond
frozen over in winter.

Yes,
these should serve nicely.

Step three,
place yourself
somewhere in the midst of these things.
Let you be
the trunks of the trees
supporting the lush, green canopy.
You, poor, tired,
supporting the thick boughs
that are the real life
meters
and
meters
and
meters
above you.
Or is your face
the ice of the pond.
All that people ever notice
is how much you can take
before you break.
But there is so much more
just beneath the surface.
So much
teeming with life.
No one knows
how deep you go.
No one will know
until the ice thaws
     (which is unlikely to happen anytime soon.
          but the metaphor was never meant to extend that far.)

Step four,
write yourself in
to the piece
in such a way that no one else
will be able to identify you.
     (Unless they're **** cunning.)
Perhaps disguise your identity
within the purpose of the piece
or the flowing imagery
seeping through the spacious cracks
in your technique.
Riddle the work
with subtle ins and outs
and minute complexities
that vex the reader
away from your intentions.

Nicely done.

Step five,
ruminate.
contemplate
your reflection
as it appears
in your monitor.
Not the image of your face
bouncing off the glass
but the snapshot
of your thoughts
so opaquely back-lit.
Remind yourself
that this is for you
and no one else.
Proofread.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Revise.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Justify
this is just for you.

Step six,
post to a public forum.

*Check back in an hour.

is it your destiny,
to be read
aloud to many
listened and dissected
in unison
leading our
thoughts as one
every crevice examined -
an anchor to gravity

or should you
just be looked at,
at face value
appreciated
for who you truly are
the sound,
flow and rhyme
of your verse

I believe to fully
appreciate you,
you should be
read in many different ways
to see your genuine value
that is often unique to all

though truthfully,
you really are
just the mutterings
of a poet wandering
room to room
in your mansion

recycled thoughts
change meaning in the overlap.
try and convince me different,
by forcing yourself to do the same.
it's ambiguity knocking,
you've resonated thoroughly
throughout what's dragged on, kept dragging
and skinned you
       edge-side
-in.

love makes love
in sequence
and in time.

motions and friction
stomach tells secrets
legs fold out laps, and drop them.
burrowing chests, heaving.
can you breathe in this smoke?
or will you exhale it?

you've caught me, intimately
picking my nose, afraid it will bleed.
all alone while you're searching,
I've got the privacy to wipe the blood from my fingers
and think of the shadows you'll check,
and the one's you'll fiend away.
empathy discussions,
what ***** your soul also binds it.

a word.
time,
and too much of it,
wasted,
can't handle it,
feels
absent.
ditched windows,
bent blinds,
hardwood and tile.
cuddled
dogs, sore wrists,
nail-bites.

absence:
when you're not there.
you're
not
there.

step back, or splash!
you are steam,
a stream of heat,
sweating.
talking me up
about talent,
talking me silent,
and happy.

I'm caught up in this silence,
so comfortable.
keep me silent, or I'll keep talking.

In Latin, verging on double dutch, names for psychological disorders
are sheep in wolves' clothing, let me resort to plain language;
invited to her harem, a rare privilege, quickly I found she has,
what I would happily  call, **"Manic Obsessive Lingerie Acquisition Disorder"