On the people’s dime

Flew through the sky to get to another city, for work
How many times has it been this month, now?
Jacked up my carbon footprint so much burning jet fuel, no amount of my recycling nor eating local will help
and yet,
There is no glamour in staying cooped up in another swanky hotel
On the people’s dime

This is just therapy

I need to enter the woods
and leave my gouged head
to shed its harried thoughts
among tree whispers,

hushed by voices old
as millenia
perhaps it can find me peace

Headless, I shall take my body
to a field of grass
and leave my eyes to weep

as it gazes at the changing sky
perhaps its beauty can bring me
tears, humility from grief

Blind, I will stumble to the beach
and cast my heart to the sea
whose salt shall scour
my anger off its beat

and drown it shall deep below
among the cool touch of weeds
to bring it the peaceful lull
of forgetting

As for my body
It shall float aimlessly
upon the world’s waters
dictated by the power of gyres

This foolishness
of taking myself apart
seems to me the only means
of bringing back myself
whole and cleansed
again

Old Verses: Mind the Dragonflies

Over the green grass
Over the rough fields
Out in the blue sky,
In the free air,
In the light sphere

Flitted the goggle-eyed pilots
Gossamer-winged,
fragile intricate things

Over the green grass
Out in the light sphere
Light flows through net wings
Luscent, the converging
Goggle-eyed trinkets

Over the rough fields,
The sharp blades

Mind the dragonflies

08/02/06
Nature Narratives on a Tissue Ply

Old Verses

Found, yellowing and gathering dust. Remains of a former life, a stranger’s mind.

 

 

 

 

Character Study: Draco Malfoy

He stood along the boulevard, hands in his jacket pockets, gazing out at the placid sea. The sky above was overcast, a dull gray. It was because of this that his white blonde head stood out like negative space in a painting. It was because of this that Hermione Granger spotted him; her eyes grew wide in recognition, her hand, which had only a moment before hung loosely at her side, sprung toward her chest like a tense tight-fisted bud. He stood there, oblivious, the expression on his face hard and inscrutable, his lips drawn into a thin line. He seemed lost in the intensity of his own severe thoughts. His profile was much the same as before, his jaw strong and angular. His pallor was still pale as before, but he had filled out, he was a man, not the gangly spiteful adolescent of what – ten? eleven years ago? But he looked very much like a Malfoy, like how anyone who had went to Hogwarts with him would expect him to look in his late twenties. Except that no one had seen Draco Malfoy in the last ten years. He had disappeared as if one day he had just managed to drop out of the world and blinked out into another realm. To be honest, with his family’s reputation an utter wreck after the war, his disappearance would have been missed but as it was, Lucius and Narcissa had been at a loss after they had exhausted all possible means of searching for their son and had reluctantly published a missing persons on the Daily Prophet six months after Draco had vanished without a word. His wand had been right there on the bedside table where he placed it before going to bed. His clothes were all there in his closet. There were no signs of foul play, and if he had run away, he had not left a letter to explain his reasons. One day, he was just no longer there.

Simmering

Simmering, just below the surface smiles and laughs
That never really seep through beneath the skin
Of her mask
Not that she actively keeps up pretense – no
The smiles are as real as she can make them
Are only as real as bliss is fleeting,
her restlessness hums, threatening
to throw a fit,
her cold longing a sharp blade
cutting through her illusions

A Companion to Green Nocturne

I really really like looking at people’s backs.
What an indulgence!
I once had a crush on a random stranger because of the way she seemed.
Don’t backs hold some sort of promise? in their tempting ambiguity,
Can’t you help but imagine what the person looks like
Is it a frown or a smile?
The size of their hands, the shape of a chin, is there light in their eyes?

Ignorance is a sin

wonder if you still play the violin
or write like a song

are you happy
have you forgotten
enough to be

haven’t forgotten
after all
you said I was the guilty party

on nights like this,
walking after rain
the world cold and clean again

wish for a time-turner
to make myself disappear

ignorance is a sin

dealing with existentialist grief

tell me something beautiful
read poetry sing a song
anything to ease the cutting harrow
of The Infinite Limitless
I could stuff darkness and grief in it, easy
and there is more left

therapy, therapy I admit
literature for the pregnant pause
between the cradle of my awareness
and my body death

letters only distraction
a vessel for the trip from this bank and the next

When it has been too long

It gets to a point where it gets like this
Missing it, the song-ness of it
The way it runs in my mind
Certainly, admittedly, acceptably idiosyncratic
Better to say, the way it plays
Unlike music, but so like song
Whether somber, mad or high
The quietness of it, always
Quietly strong, or cracking
But quietly the same
A human voice rising above silence
Drawing a cleft to make room
For innovation? or if you like, art
But to me it is first a voice,
A lonely singer for a moment
Until it finds its way, under your skin