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"presentpastfuture" poems
C'EST PRESQU'AU BOUT DU MONDE..." ( IT WAS ALMOST TO THE END OF THE WORLD ) She believed that deep deep inside her the flame of a femme fatale burned brightly. Could imagine herself stepping out of some classic Film Noir. Cultivated herself to look like Marie Windsor opposite the dangerously gorgeous John Garfield. But her life it seemed had her stepping into an Edward Hopper. The isolation and the paint still wet. The lonely lady glimpsed in an hotel window from a passing train autumnal rain. Still she acted always as if she was in her own movie l walking around her tiny flat naked except for red stilettos red earrings...red lipstick. Making up her own snappy lines to some imaginary leading man. "Are you decent?" "Yes"" "But you're....you're naked!" "You only asked if I was decent!" The mirror laughed catching the reflection of who she could have been given half the chance. She never stood a chance. She threw a cigarette up in the air caught it between her lips her one and only party trick. Lit or unlit. Searching for middle C on a battered piano her mind off key abandoning it the piano's yellow smile. She watched the sunlight carve a block of time out of the dividing wall. fading the wallpaper roses. The bed that was always empty...always unmade. She danced to Weill's Youkali Tango. Put it on again...again. Scratching an already scratched record. The needle gathering fluff. The porcelain milkmaid...dust. She disliked the way sweat gathered under her ******* They were always a little too large. Hated men staring so hard. Ahhhh the faded romance a sunset heart attack. Couldn't have wrote herself a better script. Staggering in her dance gasping that all too unsubstantial air as if trying to catch time the presentpastfuture falling out of her hand. The wooden acorn of the tattered blind tapping against the ***** window pane. Neon going green. Then red. Now blue. And then green again.
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
donall-dempsey
"C'EST PRESQU'AU BOUT DU MONDE..."( IT WAS ALMOST TO THE END OF THE WORLD )
C'EST PRESQU'AU BOUT DU MONDE..." ( IT WAS ALMOST TO THE END OF THE WORLD ) She believed that deep deep inside her the flame of a femme fatale burned brightly. Could imagine herself stepping out of some classic Film Noir. Cultivated herself to look like Marie Windsor opposite the dangerously gorgeous John Garfield. But her life it seemed had her stepping into an Edward Hopper. The isolation and the paint still wet. The lonely lady glimpsed in an hotel window from a passing train autumnal rain. Still she acted always as if she was in her own movie l walking around her tiny flat naked except for red stilettos red earrings...red lipstick. Making up her own snappy lines to some imaginary leading man. "Are you decent?" "Yes"" "But you're....you're naked!" "You only asked if I was decent!" The mirror laughed catching the reflection of who she could have been given half the chance. She never stood a chance. She threw a cigarette up in the air caught it between her lips her one and only party trick. Lit or unlit. Searching for middle C on a battered piano her mind off key abandoning it the piano's yellow smile. She watched the sunlight carve a block of time out of the dividing wall. fading the wallpaper roses. The bed that was always empty...always unmade. She danced to Weill's Youkali Tango. Put it on again...again. Scratching an already scratched record. The needle gathering fluff. The porcelain milkmaid...dust. She disliked the way sweat gathered under her ******* They were always a little too large. Hated men staring so hard. Ahhhh the faded romance a sunset heart attack. Couldn't have wrote herself a better script. Staggering in her dance gasping that all too unsubstantial air as if trying to catch time the presentpastfuture falling out of her hand. The wooden acorn of the tattered blind tapping against the ***** window pane. Neon going green. Then red. Now blue. And then green again.
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