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 Feb 2010 Lori Carlson
Kai P.
I think I've procured myself again
The word 'filth' comes to mind
(For lack of a better word)

Yeah, I'm a *****
Unmetalled in the interface
It took yet another 'kind' word
Or should that be 'false' word
To realize what they think of me

To think
With their mangled good looks
Ubiquitous in psyche
Like they ever gave a chocolate-flavoured ****

Soon they'll all have had a go with me
And i'll become
How do you say? Sui generis?
Numb betwixt the thighs

I 'detest' myself
(For lack of a better word)
And I stare at the periwinkle
To find relief

And that's still no relief
Because I'm jealous of periwinkle
The capita thinks it's 'beautiful'
And of course 'I am no periwinkle'
(For lack of a better understatement)

For lack of a better me.
Two make two Ideas
Four 1 conspiracy so;
Now more syllables
I have mailed this writing back to my own address
Sound the deep waters:--
  Who shall sound that deep?--
Too short the plummet,
  And the watchmen sleep.
Some dream of effort
  Up a toilsome steep;
Some dream of pasture grounds
  For harmless sheep.

White shapes flit to and fro
  From mast to mast;
They feel the distant tempest
  That nears them fast:
Great rocks are straight ahead,
  Great shoals not past;
They shout to one another
  Upon the blast.

O, soft the streams drop music
  Between the hills,
And musical the birds' nests
  Beside those rills:
The nests are types of home
   Love-hidden from ills,
The nests are types of spirits
  Love-music fills.

So dream the sleepers,
  Each man in his place;
The lightning shows the smile
  Upon each face:
The ship is driving, driving,
  It drives apace:
And sleepers smile, and spirits
  Bewail their case.

The lightning glares and reddens
  Across the skies;
It seems but sunset
  To those sleeping eyes.
When did the sun go down
  On such a wise?
From such a sunset
  When shall day arise?

"Wake," call the spirits:
  But to heedless ears;
They have forgotten sorrows
  And hopes and fears;
They have forgotten perils
  And smiles and tears;
Their dream has held them long,
  Long years and years.

"Wake," call the spirits again:
  But it would take
A louder summons
  To bid them awake.
Some dream of pleasure
  For another's sake;
Some dream, forgetful
  Of a lifelong ache.

One by one slowly,
  Ah, how sad and slow!
Wailing and praying
  The spirits rise and go:
Clear stainless spirits,
  White,--as white as snow;
Pale spirits, wailing
  For an overthrow.

One by one flitting,
  Like a mournful bird
Whose song is tired at last
  For no mate heard.
The loving voice is silent,
  The useless word;
One by one flitting,
  Sick with hope deferred.

Driving and driving,
  The ship drives amain:
While swift from mast to mast
  Shapes flit again,
Flit silent as the silence
  Where men lie slain;
Their shadow cast upon the sails
  Is like a stain.

No voice to call the sleepers,
  No hand to raise:
They sleep to death in dreaming
  Of length of days.
Vanity of vanities,
  The Preacher says:
Vanity is the end
  Of all their ways.
1198

A soft Sea washed around the House
A Sea of Summer Air
And rose and fell the magic Planks
That sailed without a care—
For Captain was the Butterfly
For Helmsman was the Bee
And an entire universe
For the delighted crew.
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