1. |
Morning
06:32
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on a morning after long a night
i stepped out into the yellow light
and i saw in the pool, to my surprise,
staring up at me with bloated, shallow eyes,
the frog floating helpless in the chlorinated grave.
maybe the cover trapped him in,
or, in the end,
he was impossible to save.
in the back of the house we swam and touched
and came in, dripping, voices hushed.
woke up with a sour thought:
the frog in the bush i'd fished out and left to rot!
in the back of our minds we pushed out the sound
of our doubts like an over-full merry-go-round;
clinging tight, as children might,
but we left the water on all night!
with the laundry hanging out on a wire,
i’ve started to suspect everything i desire.
and where there's a smoke, there's definitely a fire!
when will i start to suspect my desires?
on an evening dull and gray,
i took coffee on an oversized tray
and i drank the silence of an empty room
like the lightning flash before the thundering boom.
and i cried, cold and helpless in the wicker chair
about all the things i tried to share -
and though i understood
as best i could,
somehow the whole thing still felt unfair.
and in the midnight light we were two shining fishes
with scales bright and polished, you tasted delicious.
and you were the hourglass, and i was the sand,
and i poured all myself into your open hand!
and through the waves i saw something
glitter and stared;
wanted to reach it, but i was too scared.
instead, i grasped nothing
and nothing grasped back.
i am a rusted pot
on a forgotten rack!
a shout in the night, a whisper in the morning
and your fragile heart was my only warning
i’m afraid of the smoke
i’m afraid of the fire
and i’m afraid of myself most of all
and the cruelty of my desires
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2. |
Afternoon
04:37
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you were a tree i couldn’t uproot -
your roots were tangled in everything i am and all i do.
and in the fireglow you chanted the daimoku -
nice and slow
and got it right the first time, and i thought:
i have nothing left to teach you.
and you wondered why i touched your ribs the way i did;
that’s because i love it that inside each of us
a skeleton is hidden.
you and me, with a different name and the same frame -
from our starting structure, look how separate
we became!
you were a taste i couldn’t forget
and a half-open door to a half-broken swing-set.
i pushed aside the weeds along the threshold
and came back with a handful of regret!
only in dreams am i such a masochist -
to ask for the front and back of your hand
and the twice-hitting twist.
i fought halfheartedly
and thought for sure you would believe
the picture i insist,
like a costume i wear to prove i exist
when under my skin i’m more fragile than this.
like a costume i wear to prove i exist -
when under my skin i’m much more fragile than this!
only in dreams
to ask for the front and back of your hand
pushed aside the weeds along the threshold
and came back with a handful of regret!
we are fallen leaves
in a somber grove
of rotten undergrowth and shady trees.
and hid in me is a dream
that can roll off my tongue like a five-finger melody.
and if i write about the truth,
you’ll see me more clearly, by the light of a full moon.
if i don’t write about the truth,
my words fall lifeless in the lightless afternoon.
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3. |
Evening
04:46
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i saw a tiny aphid, enemy of the rose
slyly crawling up the vine by my side,
little did it suppose
i had the clippers poised to cut the head off at the leaf
but in its eyes i sensed defeat and slipped them back into their sheath.
i looked within and found the enemy of my soul.
i looked without at a circle of the world
through the peep-hole.
with such a peripheral handicap
it’s a miracle i say anything true -
it’s the futility of reflection, the impossibility of review!
cut off the withered parts of me
(and my insatiable need for company)
cut off the withered parts of me
like a twisted branch on a hibiscus tree!
cut out the rotten parts, and then
(despite how fruitless i have been)
cut out the rotten parts, and then
what’s left of me can bloom again!
only twenty-one and i feel my life has gone on too long.
i have no unifying themes to build my waning hopes on.
and nothing makes a person more grimly self-aware
than to realize she no longer prefers hope to despair!
oh, god, if you have the will to pity our condition,
if you can turn your holy eyes beyond our fear and cynicism,
i won’t ask to be remembered or looked upon with grace -
i only ask to be the shadow from the light that is your face!
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4. |
Nightfall
07:06
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the colony of aphids has bred beyond belief,
creeping militant on every unbloomed bud and under leaf.
oh, i should have known, but the colonization took me by surprise!
oh, never trust an aphid. never trust an aphid's eyes!
the walls of the asylum crumbled gray to dust beneath our feet.
we crept along the stairs and up the halls like leaves in windy streets.
the darkness touched our arms and fingers; our eyes clung to the light -
the escape erased behind us, and the exit out of sight.
oh god, you showed us the fruit and we tasted it.
oh god, you gave us a world and we wasted it.
we are the leaves that fall from trees of dying trust
we are the rust from dust from gold of things you touched
oh god, surely you knew from the start?
any other creature would have served you with a purer heart!
and if i am worth life
then why do others die
under bridges and by ropes swinging heavily in time?
and if i am worth love
then why do others cry
alone in streetcars, unmet, unmissed,
and burdened under lies?
and if we are worth life
then why must some despair
beneath the weight of inner suffering
too intimate to bear?
and if we are worth love
then why do some exist
as washed-up shells or empty shelves
or whispers in the mist?
and if i am worth life,
why do others die
before their times in dim-lit buildings hung with neon lights?
and if i am worth love
why do others die
on subway benches unnoticed as the miles trickle by?
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5. |
Fin
05:13
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by the time i heeded your repeated insistence
and succeeded at carving out the necessary distance,
i became the hunted game, under the knife -
trying to cut away the parts that cut away your life.
by the time i repented and consented to bear
my share of the weight i had asked you to carry,
oh, i was the shed shell of molting beetle -
a torn shirt pierced by your thread and needle.
(oh, i was the autumn leaf, turned half-red -
a torn shirt pierced by your needle and thread).
sew up the shredded parts of me
(and my gaping need for autonomy)
sew up the shredded parts of me
like an unraveled stitch on cotton tee.
sew up the worn-down parts, and then
(despite how useless i have been)
sew up the worn-down parts, and then
i'll be worthy to wear again.
oh, i cannot serve two masters, but haven't i
become a servant of disaster in my master's eye?
i am the first become last, surviving by
living not better but faster, don't ask me why
i'd even bother hereafter...
...just let me die.
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6. |
Moment of Silence
07:28
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7. |
Event
10:19
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my repression, ineffective.
my thoughts became regressive,
as unimpressive as a soldier unsold on the old objectives.
a resurrection, unsuccessful,
ashes in an earthen vessel -
and i still crave your blessing
you’re like the angel that jacob wrestled!
the scope of what has been done
fills the horizon of my mind -
cloud by day and pillar by night -
the sudden end of my perceived bondage
and the path with no promised land in sight!
i live from weight to weight, the pain of guilt
pressing my chest like a hunk of fallen slate.
lift it from me! save me from the false salvation of escape
or, at least, the intolerable -
and increasingly likely - possibility
of love returned by hate!
and if i am worth life -
no, nevermind -
(that was a question for another time)
christ, the memories! how can i tolerate them?
can i leave the feelings settled so i never have to aggravate them?
around my feet this edifice has crumbled in the snow.
at my side my wearied fists are sick of trading blows.
in the dark and the cold, we kissed and touched
and came up stumbling from the must.
drowned by the drinking i did in excess;
cemetery of hope for healthy progress.
at the fear of my words and yours, i wept:
a taste, a door, weeds, a swing-set -
things i promised to forget
(impossible promises, intermittently kept).
they were new wine in old skins, bursting the seams
and it all ran out in clear and scarlet streams
(an erupted heart - isn't that what it means?)
oh, but i'll still soak up whatever i can!
i've said: you are the hourglass, i am the sand;
and if there's some part of you
that still cares to understand:
you marked out my seasons with an unconscious hand.
you are a soft hand i held once in a car ride,
eaten alive by anxious thoughts as the miles passed by.
you are brown eyes, wide and enchanted,
i stared into countless times but never under such painful circumstances!
You are haunting lips i pressed to mine - but oh!
did i not believe in someone else only three weeks ago?
you are the warmth that interred me with sensation
when anger burned against the hope of reconciliation.
you are a fragile life i've tried to hold together -
and all the strings of my attachment are bound up in this godless endeavor!
you are my best friend and worst struggle - and oh,
did i not belong to someone else only three weeks ago?
you are the smile i cannot predict.
following your eyes down - averting conflict.
whatever suffering there is left to inflict,
bring it on me! it's no more than i deserve!
i am a nihilist - when the atmosphere demands
and some tortured voice shreds me like rusted nails through holy hands;
or existentialist - when your palms on my chest
and wide eyes penetrate me like no prayer has ever managed to effect!
the fire of experience burns my skin,
or is that the amber liquid you made me sip from in the smoker's den?
my lungs are bursting with the force of your emotive innocence,
or is that the smoke from a half-lit cigarette, glowing in the dark behind the fence?
i throw my life before you, net on the other side.
flood me with yourself
like bits of seashells on the rising tide.
i gave thanks and broke my soul and placed it in your hands:
it’s my blasphemous confession! my writing in the sand!
unlace the knotted parts of me
(heavy heart and eyes too wild to see)
unlace the knotted parts of me
oh, i’m a tangled heap of anxiety
untie the strangled parts and then
(despite how tied my mind has been)
untied the strangled and then
my whole being will breathe again.
take a breath, breathe
you are a tree of holy leaves
you are a raindrop from the eaves
you are precious; you are free
you are worthy of belief.
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