when all else fails, share poetry!

Sep 27, 2011 16:58

i am 99.44% sure i had something to say, but i can't remember what it was. new soa tonight, that should be good. i'm looking forward to it, anyway.

i got all this stuff done while my boss was here, and then he went to a meeting and pfffft my motivation went like *that*. i have a list of things to do, too. i just haven't done them. (story of my life, man.)

have a poem.

Spokes, spooks: your tinsel hair weaves the wheel
that streams through my dreams of battle. Another
apocalypse, and your weird blondeness cycling in
and out of the march: down in a bunker, we hunker,
can hear the boots from miles off clop. We tend to
our flowers in the meantime. And in the meantime,
a daughter is born. She begins as a mere inch, lost
in the folds of a sheet; it's horror to lose her before
she's yet born. Night nurses embody the darkness.
Only your brain remains, floating in a jar that sits
in a lab far off, some place away, and terribly far.
Your skull no longer exists, its ash has been lifted
to wind from a mountain's top by brothers, friends.
I am no friend. According to them. Accordion, the
child pulls its witching wind between its opposite
handles: the lungs of the thing grieve, and that is
its noise. She writhes the floor in tantrum. When
you climbed the sides of the house spider-wise to
let yourself in, unlocked the front door, let me in
to climb up into your attic the last time I saw you
that infected cat rubbed its face against my hand.
Wanting to keep it. No, you said. We are friends.
I wear my green jacket with the furred hood. You
pushed me against chain-length. Today is the day
that the planet circles the night we began. A child
is born. Night nurses coagulate her glassed-in crib.
Your organs, distant, still float the darkness of jars.

--'Why I Am Afraid of Turning the Page", by Cate Marvin

i close with baby pandas. the fuzzy is overwhelming.

slack-ass, work, poetry, cute and fuzzy

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