Arms cocooning you, I whispered in your ear,
Assured you of what I saw in you,
Beyond the mirror's reach.
And spread your new-formed wings.
Defying gravity, upwards, upwards
To that star you couldn't see before,
Entangled in the Universe's red nebula hair.
Feel the power of her supernova,
The force at the heart of her sun.
And I remain on the ground,
A shell in your shape.
On your mind, I am a pencil line.
easily di s t o r t ed.
A one-dimensional temporary measure,
A working sketch, in place of something better.
Make an improvement, omit and erase,
I'm nothing permanent; I leave no trace.
You can remove me from your canvas consciousness.
My mind is different. You are written in pen.
each detail c a r e f u l l y preserved,
Painstakingly. No eraser can shift the vivid ink I have used.
I can cross you out. Put a line through, destroy the image,
But, the scratching nib cuts angry scar
I nearly lost my life this morning
In a drive-by shooting, hit and run.
He was the passenger, Angelica was driving,
A triumphant smirk was the bullet in her gun.
Oh, Angelica, angel baby,
I know you're having fun.
Oh, Angelica, drive him crazy,
Don't worry, yes, you've won.
I nearly lost my mind this evening
At a rock and roll gig, their turn to play.
He strummed the music, Angelica was singing,
In that voice sent from heaven I heard her say -
"Look at all the fun he's having,
Now that you're not in the way.
See, this was the life that he was missing,
Don't worry, I'm here to stay."
I lost it all as the night kept rising,
Heart beaten by tiny clenched fists,
Hands pounding ventricle walls,
"Let me out!"
Veins carry lust/rage to the tongue
And burst forth an escape -
- I lo-
loathe, love -
... walk away.
A downward glance,
Defeat springs and falls below
As imitation seawater
To join the water under the bridge.
If he wrote a poem about her, should he begin with a conjunction?
Would it be better to try an adjective instead?
Should he ask a question or raise a point or evoke a feeling?
What, exactly, would be the point?
Another collection of words to hammer in the truth of lost love?
If he wrote a poem about her,
where would the linebreaks be? Ending on important words
so the reader remembers them?
Some sort of back-of-the-book condensation of feeling?
How should the idea of loss be executed in syntax?
Adimpleate me with sorrow,
My adnascentia flailing,
An aeipathy for the
Albedineity of my soul.
My amandation from society -
This is the cause of my amarulence;
For nobody is amorevolous
When I am there ...
Never have I experienced this antipelargy
That you all so happily share.
Am I truly autexousious?
Or is my life an assectation,
Void of auturgy must I bajulate
Through the blateration of life.
My cacozealous attempt to fit
The canitude I live in ...
My consciousness cosmogyral,
How I long to desarcinate,
To ejurate this fallaciloquence,
This gnathonisation that gumfiates the undeserving.
So, I decided it might be a good idea to pack a few things, book a bus ticket and travel to a city in which I know no one and have never been to before.
It's rainy and colder than Auckland, but I'm going to go museum-ing tomorrow, and then maybe to Katherine Mansfield's house, and to the art galleries and so on. I'm staying at the YHA and it's rather cool, especially the 'laundry with a view' on the top floor.
Anyway, I have to go out in the rain to find an internet cafe because for some stupid reason they don't have a printer here for me to print the confirmation for my flight home on Wednesday, so goodbye everyone, see you soon!