bicycle by your side
hands tied
arms and legs askew
faceless man
who are you?

what did you do?
who weeps for you?
who loves you?
children, any?
father?
son?
who put the gun to the head
of the faceless man of BUCHA?

lying in the ruins of the street
what horrible creatures did you see
in that last, darkening light
of BUCHA?

I have a slight fear, in relating these vignettes, that musically we're too basic. I doubt anyone could say we don’t know new music, after all, we listen to WYBCx, which plays unusual tracks but we just share this silly place that fits us. So go ahead, judge us. No, I mean it’s fine, so fine.

In my suite we liaison with Cinderella Sundays, once a month, where we ALL clean our suite. We put on rediscovered disco classics - like Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive,” Dana Summer’s “On the Radio,” and the Bee Gees “How deep is your love,” bumping these songs as we sano things. As part of this effort, we usually order some wings.

When we get deliveries we have to pick them up at the front gate. I was wearing this short, cropped shirt, shorts and no bra and as I headed for the door, Leong said, “No! You can go outside like THAT! So I grabbed a cover shirt and absentmindedly put my Airpods in one of the pockets. I always do my laundry on Sunday - ALWAYS - if I don’t it’s because of something tragic like nuclear war.

That’s how I destroyed my second set of Airpods in less than a month. They drowned in the wash. I’ll miss them. They were dear to me and served me well. We buried them in a flower *** as part of a martini fueled funeral service. I decided to name my new ones “Miley” because I’ve been listening to her “Jolene” backyard session endlessly.

My suitemates and I decided to do this friendship exercise where we exchange playlists of songs that remind us of that person. All 8 of us chose a song that reminded us of Lisa, for instance, and she got that playlist.

The song Lisa picked for me was “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton. I couldn’t discern why, so I asked her. She explained: We all go to this local NailPro to get our nails done (although It’s not the greatest place and there’s always a wait - it services) and I like Acrylic nails. She says that when I’m reading, with my headphones on, I unconsciously rub my nails together, making a little washboard sound with my nails similar to what Dolly used at the start of the song.

The song I picked for Lisa was “Way too ****” by Drake - that future and young ****. She had it on a loop last fall. If we were studying or deep talking Lisa would say, “You know what would make this moment better?” And, she’d call it up. That song is pure Lisa.

Anna plays guitar and sings sometimes (she’s really good) and one song I particularly liked her version of - which I didn’t know the name of for the longest time - I’d say, “play the night song,” is “Because the Night” by Pati Smith. So I gave her that.

Sophy got Zendaya’s “Dynamite,” because she IS and Leong got “Year of love” by Jenny Hval - because, well, that’s what it’s been for us.

One lowkey pastime of our little group was re-watching “The crown” and we were ignited by a scene where Lady Di is roller skating to a song called “Girls on Film” by Duran Duran. If you spend much time in our suite you’ll hear that song and how everyone dances it out.

Peace y'all.

.
Someone is waiting behind an unlocked door,
peek around the frame and tell me what you saw.
I am a little bit too scared to take a look,
like turning a page in an old horror book.

You see it may be someone who likes me
and that is dangerous for stability.
The hands are motionless on a timeless clock,
it would be easier if they would just knock.

In theory there is nothing I want more
than someone waiting behind an unlocked door.
I've rehearsed this scene so many times before,
but here and now there is a storm at my core.

It ties up the insides like thick knotted hair,
the thought, the fear, that there is nobody there.
So the man in the corner whom most ignore
has someone waiting behind an unlocked door.

But the uncertainty has its own high cost,
as the door locks shut and the moment is lost.

© Pagan Paul (14/02/21)

.
Poems are plush curtains,
of words,
pulled together
to hide the world
from the raw emotion
that flows
out of a writer
casting pearls.


© Pagan Paul (14/02/21)