A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 11, 2008 || 12:13 am

Portmanteau

I would not pretend

it was never imagined

if hard-pressed for answer:

I would have to note

what your lips said to

my collarbone,

(which is)

now forlorn for the want of them;

your quiet, wretched promises

ringing, high-pitched, through

my marrow.

I once had a dream where the trees,

forested for miles in front of me,

began exploding systematically

on a sun-steeped day;

Have you heard the foreward echo

of their boiling sap?

Have you heard it, too?

Those explosions marched right on up

to my very toes (my right boot

was coming untied.) but i,

But ohmightygod, I was

Untouched by shrapnel splinters

Unburned by fiery leaves

Fully unmarred by acrid, scorching wind

There was just a concussion in my middle

A slow-blooming thud

And my eyes wide, horrified

elbows crucified to my ribcage

palms out, fingers locksplayed

Held there,

dull reflective glow of the carnage

But there was no pain

None physical, anyway…

Every heartbreak has its own accent.

They grow in the same soil,

And are tended each one different

one trying harder than the next

to push its way up and out

attempting to be more memorable

than all, yes all, of the rest

Plaintive cries to God, really

For sympathy brings no rest

And healing has to happen sometime

No time like the present, right?

A bag, a sash, your own small army,

a moon’s soft-spoken light

All of these things I have gifted you

Our own iconography

In a time where saints

would be called fools

And fools ran the kingdom

Making the tree-dream even more weighty

on my unblinking eyes

It is so hard to say no.

Everything clangs

“What’s mine is mine! It is!”

And the pendulum began swinging

before the first word was even formed

Who, then, to believe?

I always wanted to wear my Sunday

Best for you.

(just a glorified braindump, really, thank you for your infinite patience while I go all flakey and self-indulgent)

(also, I got impatient with the formatting and punctuation of it all. oh, the shame!)

1 worked it out »

  1. chris robinson 1.11.2008

    Image after image to think about. “And healing has to happen sometime” I struggle with this. Life is short. Grudges only extend the pain. But the freedom that comes with forgetting is elusive.

    “Elbows crucified to my ribcage”??? I’m stealing this line. The shock of betrayal is hard to get at in words. This does it. Brilliant, as always.

     

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