Friday, July 4, 2008

dreams of the recovering soul

nerves, originally uploaded by Federico Erra.

i refuse to leave my bed.
my soul sits in a corner, arms around knees, and rocks back and forth.

a little earthquake somewhere,
__(like a lizard dashing past in Brisbane)

(i do what i can to drown out the date with
Shostakovich, sleep, fast-paced numbing movies)

i wish i could take her to a piano store.
she likes to hide under the lids.
she once had no body,
she misses the lightness.
once, she sounded like:
__wind __staring senseless into space __train-station-smoke-reeking old women

, now the laborious drone of a voice.
__(i once saw her try and french kiss a cello. i want her tongue she whispered to me)

are we there yet?

now she sits in her corner, waiting for Elysium.
she wants to walk to Arcadia.
she likes to skim rocks off the surface of the Styx,
she sits on the banks, i hear a choir of young boys she tells me.

the mornings can be tough.
the light deceives her,
reminds me... ya know?

yeah. i do.

she doesn't like to be touched much these days.
if i'm on a couch, she lays on the floor, reading Sisyphus, listening to Thomas Tallis.
you're so far away__she stares at me, her eyes still there
__(pomegranates, ambrosia, the blond curly hair of her cherub friends, the giant wings of her friend Gabriel,
__she says to me: the thing i miss most about home, is the feel of the gate. __do you have any idea what it's like to walk on clouds?
__she smiles.

she sits in her corner.

sweet apparition, please don't be sad...
__(she misses Caravaggio she says)
i nod supportively.
want to hold hands?
(shakes head)

i avoid the sunlight. __the morning hours. __the sound of the summer morning beginning to roast what's left of fall leaves.
i want to let in air,
sometimes she hears stories of trees and beaches and faraway realms that make her smile.

do you know how old i am?
you still look lovely.
(she smiles, my eyes blur a little where her face should be)

she runs a hand through her hair,
exhales (i feel like i've been kissed goodbye)
don't leave, i feel__ lost, if. you ..

(she'd rather live in a Chagall.
i disappoint her)

1 comment:

Ghetto Blaster said...

"do you have any idea what it's like to walk on clouds?"

imagery, imagery, imagery.. i love yours.