Saturday, December 01, 2007

most days I cannot remember

most days i cannot remember

Wanting to Die

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.

Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.

But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.

Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.

In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.

I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.

Still-born, they don’t always die,
but dazzled, they can’t forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.

To thrust all that life under your tongue!—
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death’s a sad bone; bruised, you’d say,

and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love whatever it was, an infection.

–Anne Sexton

Friday's omens

Yesterday was an eventful day. Meeting someone you've known online for a while in person always is even more so when you have similar bent on this strange internet world that we work and live in. Oh yes, having a wonderful lunch and great conversation with them is even better. Thanks D!

The afternoon...oh the afternoon. First there was the crate of fuyu persimmons...

fuyu persimmons

In the afternoon, while strolling down an old familiar avenue and seeing an old friend/co-worker from years ago was a bonus. Even from 25 meters away, there was no denying who he was. I called by his first name but got no response (maybe because it was John). I then called out, Mr. H. and watched him turn around. I waived. There was recognition now. I crossed the street and we chatted and caught up a bit. I took his photo. When we both resumed our opposite paths, I knew it was an omen. Days like I had yesterday don't happen for no reason.

I smiled. I smiled a real full smile outwardly and inwardly in a manner that seemed antique. Can facial expressions really get that way? Antique? Am I old enough for that? It didn't matter. I knew one chapter had closed and another had begun.

Ten minutes later, I saw a store that had favorite acoutrements of someone I held dear. Without thinking twice about it, I went in and bought something of use (I knew for sure) for her. I'd mail it on Saturday. It didn't matter if it got refused or not. It was just the way I felt, my surroundings felt. I decided that was okay. Whatever was going on in my mind was okay because they were my thoughts and I could do whatever I did with them.

Thursday, November 29, 2007


If I were in this night
To lose you to some uncertainty

There would be one less unknown
Like the ephemeral seventh color

Of Sir Isaac Newton's rainbow
Then I would have to learn to love

Another hue, perhaps magenta
Which when dark enough reminds

Me of crimsom that flows in
Our veins; a reminder of our sins

November 29, 2007

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

it is relative

it is again late. though this kind of late is relative, it relative because i cannot be sure of my origin. how does one measure where they are from? by geography, by the last words said in an incident? by the last wreckage that you had started (and one where parts of you were left behind)? no matter, right now i know i'm not at home and it is not such a bad thing.

sometimes there is a wonderment in being lost in a city full of secrets and no map has ever been drawn of it. a city not made obscure by the mist or narrow alleys but by the hundreds or thousands of faces you pall by and you realize you can't tell them apart. yes, that is the kind of face that is most difficult to ascertain because of their homogenity it is easy to forget who you are.

perhaps this is what solitude really is

Floating World

floating world

Between earth and sky
there is a floating world
unseen by the likes of
who walk by day.

Beneath earth and sky
there is a kingdom
of ghosts of those
who haven't let go.

In the distance between
him and her, there leagues
that yet to be walked and
wows yet to be exchanged.

November 28, 2009