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The Truth of What that Was

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  • The Truth of What that Was

    I await ...

    the darkening clouds hung veils on a cliff of chance;
    the maw opened wide, a cinnamon spray of crushed rock
    the basis of fantasies, reduced to a note
    but will it be played, do you know how it might sound?

    project,

    into vanishing futures where the reflection burns hotly;
    ghost voices sing the miserable tune, daffodil eyes droop
    with no real hint at what might become,
    or to mean anything more than what I might connect?

    nothing,

    that's a perfect promise; lying smiling languid, wanting
    nothing. asking for the ability to receive, perhaps.
    to change these wayward motions, to 'i don't know';
    because surety lost everything along the way,
    pieces of me
    starved because
    I would not listen. conspiracies were set up, plans
    hatched from the eggs
    it was left out on the counter,

    and gathered bacteria;-- what's more,
    the poison

    air
    do not breathe in,

    like saying: don't look.

    it could break mirrors, the way you wished

    death, it was like fire to your skin,
    enough to blush and say you've done

    nothing
    wrong; --but i'm not innocent, don't forget.

    even if my eyes are clear and intelligent. what does it matter

    I get lost in the places where you find
    things ... I get reminded of the way the clouds fall
    on the carpet, and tiny circles like bubbles
    dance in coalescing heat --

    the mouth. his dark mouth. I wonder at the voice. get lost
    in a million ways,

    tuned to a certain gesture-- I lose those pieces,

    rearranged into a sentient play, all the living characters

    go home, necessarily, and have nightmares

    the truth of what that was.

  • #2
    This is so skilfully composed; such music. It surrounds me in shadowings, flows, glints, whispers, magic fragments. It's as sharp and as elusive as a dream.

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    • #3
      Amenora not sure what to say but I will read this again and again

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