Nov 2016
The bacteria within my clogged nasal passage fight to see the light
My sandpaper throat takes up arms to be heard over the deafening din
Come into the light, she says; embrace what you are, how you look...
Who you seem to be;
But I can't, I don't want to, I shan't.
I turn around, take a step away
Two steps now, my black socks getting dirtier every second,
Every minuscule moment of this pathetically dull existence
Words, spinning within my metaphorical brain
Hurtling around: subsonic, then super
Uncatchable first, incomprehensible now
Raw, wild, honey & dates
Thaw, mild, funny fates.
Intertwined, intersecting
Neutral, calm, unaffecting.
Lo, and behold
The minty phosphorescence of a happy soul
The harsh contrast of a cerulean one, serene and calm
Bells in the distance, tolling
Strolling along a cherry blossom-lined pathway to nowhere.
Light cutting shapes through the dusty fawn net
Reflecting off the velveteen cushion, scarlet
Dancing now, on the sequined gold but torn
gold, but torn
Torn table cloth, snagged by the claw of a domesticated feline.
Tail wagging, agitatedly
Fast now, then slower
Claws exit the sheath
The fire within causing the ringing of multiple high pitched alarms
No smoke to do the detecting
Old bloke, what are you protecting?
Of that old but weary
Old
Weary
Leatherette case, rexine perhaps?
Yes, rexine. You are the rexine of the universe
cheap, spoilt and ugly
peeling off
looking in the mirror at myself
yes, she says, I am rexine.
But no, I am the dancing celestial light of 3 AM,
I am the beginning of a cat's purr.
I am the lost dusty books of an auctioned abbey
I am the last drop of water.
The sky on a bad day,
Clouds gathering
Soap lathering, (Made in France (c))
It says.
I am the 2% navy-dark-ink-pale blue of an underappreciated sunset
Viewed from a filthy beach.
I am the cracked glass in the cupboard that someone has forgot to dispose of
I am the unregistered number plate
the first dry petal of a once fresh marigold
Offered out of sheer boredom, playfulness
I am the sticky key of an old 1989 keyboard
I am the grease stain on your favorite shirt.
I am the betraying exposed underwire of your favorite bra
I am the lost button.
The maybe, the perhaps, the never
The maybe the perhaps, the ever
The gestation period of a tiger, she says
Is 113 days.//
My sandpaper throat takes up arms to be heard over the deafening din
Come into the light, she says; embrace what you are, how you look...
Who you seem to be;
But I can't, I don't want to, I shan't.
I turn around, take a step away
Two steps now, my black socks getting dirtier every second,
Every minuscule moment of this pathetically dull existence
Words, spinning within my metaphorical brain
Hurtling around: subsonic, then super
Uncatchable first, incomprehensible now
Raw, wild, honey & dates
Thaw, mild, funny fates.
Intertwined, intersecting
Neutral, calm, unaffecting.
Lo, and behold
The minty phosphorescence of a happy soul
The harsh contrast of a cerulean one, serene and calm
Bells in the distance, tolling
Strolling along a cherry blossom-lined pathway to nowhere.
Light cutting shapes through the dusty fawn net
Reflecting off the velveteen cushion, scarlet
Dancing now, on the sequined gold but torn
gold, but torn
Torn table cloth, snagged by the claw of a domesticated feline.
Tail wagging, agitatedly
Fast now, then slower
Claws exit the sheath
The fire within causing the ringing of multiple high pitched alarms
No smoke to do the detecting
Old bloke, what are you protecting?
Of that old but weary
Old
Weary
Leatherette case, rexine perhaps?
Yes, rexine. You are the rexine of the universe
cheap, spoilt and ugly
peeling off
looking in the mirror at myself
yes, she says, I am rexine.
But no, I am the dancing celestial light of 3 AM,
I am the beginning of a cat's purr.
I am the lost dusty books of an auctioned abbey
I am the last drop of water.
The sky on a bad day,
Clouds gathering
Soap lathering, (Made in France (c))
It says.
I am the 2% navy-dark-ink-pale blue of an underappreciated sunset
Viewed from a filthy beach.
I am the cracked glass in the cupboard that someone has forgot to dispose of
I am the unregistered number plate
the first dry petal of a once fresh marigold
Offered out of sheer boredom, playfulness
I am the sticky key of an old 1989 keyboard
I am the grease stain on your favorite shirt.
I am the betraying exposed underwire of your favorite bra
I am the lost button.
The maybe, the perhaps, the never
The maybe the perhaps, the ever
The gestation period of a tiger, she says
Is 113 days.//
