“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label control. Show all posts
Showing posts with label control. Show all posts
Friday, September 15, 2017
Sit & spin
Sometimes the body feels too fleshy,
repulsive and the layering excessive
and feels like swelling-
Other times, my own sharp cheekbones
jab these bulbous thoughts
with sharp words, as in No More,
and I try to swallow them
before they creep out any further
or scrape my pink warm flesh deeper.
Nothing is mine anyway. These hairs grow,
out of my control, these moles do something,
the fingers I stole from my mother.
The time is not mine, not even this one.
The body refuses to cooperate with a grander vision,
without blurring the edges and intruding on space.
My left justifies my right and intentions are made up,
despite knowing that I knew this before the fingers did,
the neuron that jumped at the thought which took credit.
Resistance holds our places in equipoise,
it's nothing to do with style,
just keeping things in place, in check,
afloat in my theoretical state of chaotic
reassembly with additional small parts
never mentioned.
Feel this sitzfleish,
like chain mail
awaiting my reply.
Painting By Daniel Hernández Morillo (Salcabamba, 1856 - Lima, 1932) – painter (Peruvian) Born in Salcabamba, Huancavelica. Dead in Lima. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, November 4, 2016
I am mortality
You-
Are afraid of death.
We can all see, it remains
obvious to the living.
Your trembling keeps you aware
of your limits by
borrowed body and baited breath.
Those weak limbs only lent in posterity
become bent
out of sorts and in specimens
You know, you have no ownership
Accept
the choices all there
your self unaware
the voices no where ensemble
the sirens that blare
some semblance to soothe by
Temptation
and taunt steadily
amplified at the base
of all heart beats
and eardrums.
You
conductor,
are listening for a pattern,
a way of knowing
the curse was weak
the cures were waiting
before Eternity for
You
in terrified harmony
aghast and kept petrified
shivering me to timbers.
Painting By Thomas Degeorge, Death of Archimedes (1815) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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