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Literature Text
In curiosity of the window pane:
How it drips. How
It melts into
a glass pool
Viscous and
membranous.
A good word for this:
The will be of persistence.
The sparrow that taps again
And again at the window.
Another word: deliverance.
And could it be the pane feels this
Slight Alteration? As I also feel the
Smallest sense of rearrangement?
My brain is a room filled with
Thousands of photographs:
And yet, you, perhaps are here
For intelligent redesign. No,
Not the ocean here. Put Sargasso
There. And what of these irritating
Collages? Bring in the trash bags.
But all this time, never once does it subside:
Move me around, Faith. Just don’t call me ignorant.
How it drips. How
It melts into
a glass pool
Viscous and
membranous.
A good word for this:
The will be of persistence.
The sparrow that taps again
And again at the window.
Another word: deliverance.
And could it be the pane feels this
Slight Alteration? As I also feel the
Smallest sense of rearrangement?
My brain is a room filled with
Thousands of photographs:
And yet, you, perhaps are here
For intelligent redesign. No,
Not the ocean here. Put Sargasso
There. And what of these irritating
Collages? Bring in the trash bags.
But all this time, never once does it subside:
Move me around, Faith. Just don’t call me ignorant.
Literature
Counting for Nothing
Fourteen hundred paces wasted
walking to your door,
and every time a pointless pounding
headache - sore, resounding, raw;
what follows next? as you'd expect
a shocking exhibition of
that bloody mix of tears
and spit and semen spilled
across this gritty floor.
and from the day that we last spoke
I've counted twenty-four.
How come I'm your ignored -
you must have grown so bored of me
and now my fingers, gnawed and nails all bitten
paw through scores
of letters better left unwritten -
never sent, now torn and scattered, littered
with my bitter thoughts unuttered,
so utterly distraught I am, I poured a litany of scorn
and lo
Literature
As If
If you can hold your drink when all about you
are losing theirs and aiming it at you,
if you can drive your car when all men doubt you,
but make allowance for the coppers too;
or need to pee but not be tired by waiting,
or after peeing don’t forget your flies;
on politics or football start debating
and yet don’t look too good nor talk too wise.
If you can drink and not make drink your master;
if you can talk – and not make sense your aim;
if you can still stand up although you’re plastered
and shout at passing women dirty names;
if you can bear to hear the truth tomorrow
of how you acted like a total fool
and
Literature
clay
cowardice runs deep, like a rich vein of red
through the bottom of a Colorado river.
so I gathered that clay, scooped it up in my hands
and packed it, carefully, over my face
until it covered every inch; and my lidded eyes
were merely dents in the thick tan façade.
this was cleaner
than the traditional, Oedipal method
of blinding oneself.
alone, the clay
was not enough. I stayed inside
the house, too, under cover of a sturdy blue roof
that cordoned the horizon –
because out here there is too much sky
to hide from.
and I ignored the phantoms
still flitting in my ears,
because they spoke of the kind of roses
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Full Title:
In Curiosity of the Window Pane
In Curiosity of the Window Pane
© 2007 - 2024 pearlingrain
Comments3
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really really good. really really well written. i really really like this. =]