Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
April 2019
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
You're not logged in ... login

RSS Feed

made with antville
helma object publisher

Wednesday, 7. August 2002

Wait of passing days.

I should be working now
and should have been since
seven this morning, but the
day was too bright for eyes
getting accustomed to darkness
and despair and the legs too tired
(from walking, caravans of footsteps
all night on hollow streets) to
stand before the mirror and look
at my face that's molting like
over ripe fruit.

When time passes and sweetness
dries up, bitterness drips down
from cold blue welts, drop by drop,
like rain or tears, infintely slowly
than the ticking of clocks.

I was there once, I was there
by your side, it was the time of
gloaming and we were walking
through grass up an embankment.
I pointed to the early moon through
the wintering trees, you nodded and
smiled in resonant understanding.

Now like Li Bai who on seeing the moon
and remebered home, memories of
you pass through me jerking me
erratically in my version of electric
shock therapy. I grope through
them blinded and shout your name,
"Hello Hello, can you hear me?"

Imagine a small fish, blind ofcourse,
swimming through an irridiscent reef.
I am like that fish and I wonder where
did the circling sharks go ingnoring
this willing banquet?

And yesterday( was it yesterday?
I am losing my sense of time and direction.)
when I was studying in a bookstore,
Fields of Gold came over the radio.
At the lines: "Her body rose when I
kissed her mouth", I broke down.

I have lost all sense of shame and
cry at all the inappropriate places.
Thank heavens! few but walk here
so my streaming tears manage to
go by unnoticed and kindness is
not extended, something if I take
I think I will burn like a zepplin.

Except this morning I woke the house up,
screaming in my sleep, "Don't go away."
It was a passing dream that didn't wait
and these are the passing days that wait
even though I don't want them to.

Some things are like that.

2002:08:07 11:30 Atlanta
Please call me.

My Poems

... comment

online for 6161 Days
last updated: 10/31/17 3:37 PM
Headers - Past & Present

Shiny Markers In The Sea:

Regular Weekend Addas: