jeudi 2 juillet 2009

deuil rampant

this whole damn thing

has me on my belly
be it worm, snail or rattler
too much the tattler, that last one
scare them off with
a watering can or hose
stomp your foot and yell
"fuck off"

one does not normally hear
morning glory subtly trail
wrapping wiry legs around
other leaves frail or
trunks of hearty trees
But tonight, my love
morning glory is loud enough
to pick my brain apart

a roly-poly jolly babe
makes her way
from room
to room, cute little bug
four-kneed and giggling like crazy
she rolls over on her back in
uncontrolled cackles (w/ tears!)

and moms and dads join in
shut the door on
that ricochet of laughter
it's not what I'm after

zombies break through
crusty earth forms
breaking brittle bones
creaking and rotting
rocky soil
too much sound from
the long-gone
tonight in
this, my empty head

they can eat me when i'm dead
tell them to shut up until then

is that a sound I hear in
my bloodless veins? not
bloodless enough i guess but
hot purple and sluggish
break off the arteries like
brittle twigs in winter
cut off the capillaries

and cast them off for the
noiseless wolves, and if
a wolf barks, shoot him

green stripe cavorts with
with flowing orange swatch in
rock-and-roll nightmares

steam crawls from whistling
kettles, comforting catch phrases
sent home by singing telegrams
rows of dead windows
black and heavy, beaten
by hurricane-force gales

no more exacting rhymes
no bells, no telephones
calling cards no big bonjours
no gorgeous blond muses
no grunting muscle men
no new verses of
poetry tonight
no elegy or romantic jaunt:

you're dying

and the thought of it
screams in my ears
too much sound in
in my crawling tears

5 commentaires:

Pisces Iscariot a dit…

strong, straight and true - hang on to yourself

Moineau En France a dit…

((((pisces)))) ~ty xoxoxo

Mary Stebbins Taitt a dit…

WHOA! Powerful! scary!

Brenda a dit…

Ohhhhhhh. This is powerful, Laura. You have it exactly, the ironies. The way death creeps through our thoughts especially when someone we love is dying. The strange normalcy of life as it is ongoing. The toddler, the laughter. Our knowledge of the body, of the earth. Of the processes of life and death. How consciousness, us with our beating, feeling hearts, is helpless towards this, towards understanding this. Suffering. Yes, but it's strangely part of the life cycle itself. A brilliant poem. xoxo

(word verification: tonative.)

Moineau En France a dit…

ty brenda and mary.

this was initally written during our wed astoria poetry wksp and was a writing exercise. it was the first time tears actually flowed, just as i was concluding my oral reading. it was such a powerful release albeit it public... but the five of us have traveled far together since we began... xoxoxoox ~lt