Back to the
corner of memories,
Silently slipping
away into a shadow
Of feelings,
and rubbed out blurs
No longer
etched into my mind.
So, I must
now sit down,
And sling
the corner shadow
Over my
shoulder
To my
periphery
Lest it be
lost forever
In that
unforgiving haze
Of non-formed
nostalgia.
In the pit
of my stomach lies
A slowly
dissolving knot
Of withered
jute fibre
That my
hunger has been eating away at
All of this
day.
I have,
once again, given myself to a situation.
Given up to
the situation.
When I
breathe on this shadow
Fragments return
to me.
They are
sunshine,
Glints of
quartz,
Wailing,
Shaking,
Vomit,
Fire.
Luminate.
They are
people.
Tiredness.
Emotional exhaustion.
Ice cold
river water.
Nudity.
They are
sought after moments of intimacy
With people
of Europe and the Americas,
People whose
hands can move in the right direction
And very
quickly too.
There is
rain,
Sodden ground,
Slippery fish
imaginations,
Lackadaisical
laughing
And more
nudity.
There is
wailing atop a mountain
In ice cold
rain at 2am
After a
connection with a Massachusetts gentleman
Of very few
words
And very wide
thoughts.
A man that
would take only a few minutes to fall for
He elusively
played I am sure,
He knew I
was easy
And desired
some emotional healing.
Then there
was the three people,
Their romances,
Their confusion,
The many
words spent
The many
moments of arched, primal wailing
Face down
to the earth
That gave
birth to this complexity.
There is
the lagoon.
The
stagnant
Pollen haloed
water
The now
ominous trees of beech
Harbouring the
tortures of the day
And now a
pair of pants
Thrown in
after a baptism;
A prenuptial
rite of Autumn.
The fires.
The heat. The
burns.
The bare
bodied, sweaty hugs
With people
who breathed you in
And they
were at once you.
They were
overwhelmed.
I was.
The letting
go
Aside a
pile of ash
And seeded
grass
Head between
my hairy knees
Covered loosely
by a floral dress
The new age
flower power talk of romance.
(The
conversation never ended,
But I
suspect it will.)
And then it
was all downhill,
The hitchhiking
The embracing
of the
Privilege
Of being an
intelligent only child
With another
intelligent only child.
We held
hands.
And I felt
it was contrived,
But I
enjoyed the repossession.
The bread eating
By the side
of this new civilisation of the mind
The embrace
and ritual
Of not
surrendering to our changed selves
Times two.
The karma.
The generosity
of parents
Who see
many girls tread
Through
their son’s room
And only
offer a bit of confusion
To the
situation.
But, not so
judgementally.
The lying
on the bed,
The first
in 8 nights
And the
warmth
security of
solitude in blankets
not
entirely alone.
I was the
third silent person in an argument
That I may
have initiated
With thoughts
of autonomy,
Emotional independce,
And seeking
self-help un-guiltily.
But as
usual,
The calm
arose
And veiled
my hard core emotion
Into
rationality I offered them
Telepathically.
