Wednesday, March 30, 2005

ugh

Humour me people. I know this is not very good, and at the very least is far too long and in need of loads of work, but i need to express...grr. I have been feeling so horrible lately, hence not posting much, trying to get it together, honestly. So let me spew. And then i will feel a bit better and maybe get back on track somewhat.

love,

SR65X

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On the gulf between sanity and in.

On the high lands I say: Where was that switch inside you?

I thought I had turned that light ON, but maybe it was just the sun through the window streaming like a torch or some blaze of falling stars. I thought I had it between finger and thumb…something I had found behind your teeth those nights I reached into you: a little square, a bump, not hard or soft, a little point that was the centre of you, your only filling you might say, in those rows of perfect tiger teeth…but she makes fireworks.

But She
Makes Fireworks.

MORE PROPERLY:

Where was that switch inside you?

Now I shouldn’t go on throwing my mind/Straight over my body and laughing the nights out from under my eyes, lying on the couch, yes, contemplating space. I should be kind, waking, and /Focus/ Focus/ Focus/ on all there is:

the he the them the one the many:

Polysemy, poly-semi, polly-semi semi semi

semi die semi be semi you semi me semi land semi see semi hear and semi say

Semi wave the fears away.

These days I think we met somehow. Maybe I saw you eating a sandwich in a station when I was out my head one day, under pale light at King’s Cross that looks like the face of a kid grey with raving all night. That dry feeling from the glass between the iron girders, ribs of some great whale: a corpse in central London. I think maybe on some school trip. Yeah…You were there leaning with your smile and your long hair, you had long hair then, my Samson.

(Remember when we were kids
:Shiny foil
:Cold morning
:Cool for Cats
:Blazer blazer bus is here.

You started up that sexy car and dreamed your dreams of beachy head:
Punk that sea side town make the rock stand on end, YOU straight thru, where the beer and the sea taste like England. In Blue, you made it to school where sweat stank and laughter resides on benches where your feet tucked up to friends. Sneering my man, sneering with your blue eyes. I was thinking different thoughts by bus light, dreams wet with turpentine, a thousand pages of flesh bound in blood I rang the bell, smoked a fag in that white tunnel like a giant cigarette inside out; drank music and was, like you, always late.

But we were right on time.

When we found each other years later your fingers were a melody by themselves! White and moving keys on a vast player piano.
When we found each other the nape of your neck was velvet: Snatch you up by it like a kitten! Swallow your sweat and bite new beauty marks!
Between my teeth you felt no pain. Oh my ideas!
Lay flat and let me fold you fold into origami shapes.
Make me a crane to fly away, a cup to hold your water.
In the light of a candle my thighs could be a fortune-teller. 1-2-3.

We built things, CONSTRUCTION! pieces of a chandelier, and mirror, we were magpies. Things that could shine and cut. I kept dreaming in heat, I dreamt of fights…cut brow at 5,6. Once you woke up screaming. In the dark I remembered where it was in the park that I hid that jewel when I was 7…in that cherry tree we found it waiting. Two somnambulists in Knightsbridge. The police didn’t catch us.

In the ditch by the bed we built and sheltered, built and sheltered,,,told stories…whispered. two children camping. Test the air with a finger, chew plants that could kill and could make the world spin like the wheel of fortune, jackpot on your belly. Musk foxes stalked dust bunnies in that glorious green, and we lay Ink soft, and sweat at night when we couldn’t sleep for the heat between us.

We were a world.

You made me a hemisphere.

But she makes fireworks.

I can’t fuck for fun because of you running
Round my head like the ghost of a kid on fire
Lit up with no pain just setting things off
Let me tell you,
You little arse-onist.
Let Me tell you.
I tried. I cried, It
Finished.

The pain went undiminished and there was always the threat of something worse.

Was it hidden under your hair?

I am trying to think of where I could have looked for it.
I am praying to St. Antony like they told us in school.
Here, under the desk, when I lost my pencil.
When I lost my head.

You on your side and me on mine, our love came crashing down like a comet with such a lovely tail, but its crater is a (s)mile wide.

2 comments:

Edward Carvalho said...

This is one of the most imaginative and evocative things I have ever read. I want to set fire to everything I have written thus far. From now on, I call you Danielle Plath.

SiRen65 said...

You flatter me Monsieur. Plath suits me tho...another transatlantique. But you are crazy. You are a genius.

I hope you are feeling better!

i am feeling a bit on the better side...

sunnier, i guess.