Posts tagged fatigue

with you

I was going to do a proper post tonight, but I’m afraid it would teeter from one emotional extreme to another and might become just a little nonsensical, a little too revealing, and might end up needing to be edited-the-hell-out-of in any case. I think I might need to process a few things first, maybe run them through my paper journal instead – sorry dear fans, but I do keep a slightly more private and analogue one of these. I love you all, but I’m just a little private about some details.

Instead, I’m going to fulfil my previous post’s conclusions and put up some poetry. These are the first seven in a longform sequence that is underway; longform in that it’s a multiplicity, not that the poems themselves are long, they are more short vignettes. Anyway – enjoy, and feedback if you please.

 

conversations with You

 

#1

You know, I wanted to talk
about angels and angles and
verdigris summertime,

but you’re busy I guess and
I’m not the best at talking anyway.

I’ll take my topic and just
cogitate soundless but guilt
makes me hopeless yet tell of
happiness, I hope.

 

#2

It’s a letter from me:
starts with Dear and
ends with love I’m above
the line but here’s a piece
of bluegrass; cup it in
your hands, don’t stand but
bite the chill,
now wake.

 

#3

The pillow’s empty and flat
but your impression’s still there
in dreamtime,
liquid chocolate glitters and
gleams over a smile of
endearment.

I endure but I’m alone
and you’re not, it
doesn’t hurt
but it drags me to
the floor,
on carpet of lilac
I can taste perfumed
memories;
they aren’t true.

 

#4

Moonbeam catcher, you whisper,
fists close on tempted shadow;
I open my eyes &
stare at whitened glare.

Breathe deep with fellowship,
a squeezed shoulder’s a sign
& so’s a twinkling iris-
perhaps others notice what
we haven’t.

Absent I’m fondness
& I convince myself it’s false
but I close my eyes and you’re there;
a mental polaroid
without me in frame.

 

#5

Lipstick stains cream
here’s a tissue, now
let’s talk – no?

It’s a construct of self
& I think you’re listening
but it’s just me;
a game of one,
doubles partner not found.

I’d call but I’m afraid
I’d answer it,
reality creeping in
and helping me
drown.

 

#6

I’m sure this time,
as you approach with
lapis-lazuli smiles,
clothed in powdered turquoise silk,
I was asleep.

I don’t care,
as most compassion and affection
are everclear in sheen,
while eyelids flicker and flutter
& I smile back.

When I wake you’ve gone
into dreamscape
but my lips curve upwards
as oxytocin flows down muscle
like satin,
I’ve woken early
but whole.

 

#7

It’s not first sight nor
second third fourth
but cumulation,
& when it hits it’s a
cannon to the soul of
desperate-tinged shock.

Sometimes the trip heralds the fall,
but I’ve been stumbling so long
I’m unsteady,
& there’s no pride to lose
or gain
or hope to draw down
without.

 

Please note, none of them are ‘final’, they are all ‘first pass’ or ‘second pass’ at best, but there’s a rawness to them that I’m sort of enjoying when I reread – enjoying, and despairing.

Ah, writing. My god, do I fucking love hate loathe respect despair enjoy it.

 

-Andiyar

down

“You seem a bit low, or maybe just exhausted.”
“You need to learn to turn off your heart!”
“Wow, you really are scarred, aren’t you?”

Three comments from three friends during a week of violent swings, a massive crash and panic, several ups, five poems, and an almost-total breakdown.

Wow. That’s a rude shock from the previous week.

 

-Andiyar

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