One hundred years of solitude, within one day,
between four walls.
The ever-returning thoughts of failure;
red to ochre
bloodstains all over the wall,
then the one memory that broke your fall
as the pale shimmer
of a phosphorescent ghost…
Behind the eyes,
where multitudes abide,
a mind decides to obey strange instructions:
bloom like fruit & fall,
one by one;
return to the earth to become new life
while others, for reasons unknown,
& grow into nothing but waste.
Swarms of contradictory thoughts
will beauty persist
when feelings no longer exist?
If I claim you've misunderstood me
would you know what I mean?
& why write a poem
no one will read?
*Credo – Robinson Jeffers
You want to put the barrel of the gun in their mouth,
to stop the noise drowning the music out;
in thrall to the curvatures described by birds in flight
& feelings inscribed in the silver-mirror light,
you want a language defiant of time:
chords of memory
transcendental & sublime;
the contingencies of life unified
You want what you cannot have:
an abstract/visceral expression of all that
sound enclosed within the bone
where the brain sits
& compels you to this
knowing that we never can understand…
but that it doesn’t matter,
so long as the song is as beautiful as you.