Author: wordsforghosts

Never let me forget…

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For S

Never let me forget
how much
I wanted to forget
the way you looked when I left you in bed
this morning,
to face the dawn & the dawning
knowledge that the futile elegance of
transcendent vision
allowing us to see
the meaningless mystery
of everything,
means nothing to me
compared to you.

As every breath in my lungs
pulled like wet leaves through mud,
you looked
so beautifully
at peace:

a rare orchid on the far shore of sleep…

In that moment
knowing
I had to tear myself away from you
only to throw myself into
the world where bullshit reigns supreme,
felt like a betrayal
because I forced myself
to forget:

Forgive me.
It was the only way
I could make myself leave the bed;
leave the island of peace
where our bodies press together,
to travel across the filthy sea
of the city
that doesn’t give a fuck about you or me
– or anybody at all –
to work for the wealth of others,
so that we can sleep beneath
a roof & between warm walls;
& we
can eat without the need
to raid bins to survive, & I
can return to you again.

So never let me forget that this human world we live in
is disgusting
& you
are the only reason
I remain within it.

The City at Night

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The City at night smells like memory & life to you.

Only in the right places, of course.

It smells like youth,
like fantasies of endless abandon.

Especially when it's just rained.

You don't know the names
of the chemicals & materials
that constitute this smell.

You know only why you find
so much delight
in such a slight thing:

Once, a long time ago, you would roam
the luminescent concrete pathways
of the City & you were free.

Liberated from the wrong kind of eyes & noise,
you found a place where
the rules were different,
 
where you had just enough money,
& just enough friends,
to create a sense of excitement…

but now you're older, &
                       everything has changed.

Somehow all those nights came to an end
& you're left with nothing
but soft-edged memories.

All the minor details,
                      once so sharp &
bright
you held them tight
to protected them
like diamonds,
              have faded;

the beginning has become
only the fragment of a dream.

Freedom has changed:

obligation replaced attachment
& left you with only
a feeling of distance,

the strange sensation
that you are not what you once were,
the you are lost
& always have been.

Reason has fallen.

Yet stubbornly
still you cling to something
you cannot explain,
except to say:

"We all have dead & dying hopes & beliefs scattered about our feet…
but I refuse to believe that we cannot find the strength
to bury them; that one day we will find the strength
to begin again.

Fuck you if you don't believe

                            just watch me."

The Body, Mind, & Lies

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Although the body & mind
can be conceptualised
as distinct
they are inextricably linked.

The body gives expression
to the mind’s longing,
just as flowers express colour
as a means to birth others.

The body,
& therefore the mind,
will always find a way to take
the path of least resistance,

& belongs entirely to causation;
to the eternal unfolding of consequence
in which chance & predetermination
somehow co-exist.

The mind must decide how to live with this:
knowing that our autonomy is that
of autumn leaves…

So we lie to ourselves
because no one else
can carry this burden for us.

This is not wisdom.

It is observation
as sutures to a wounded conscience.

It is conscience
as consequence of impotent revenge,

& impotence
as unconscious attempt to make amends.

So, don’t let these words fool you:
I know nothing about Truth.

I know only what occurs within me
as I play my small role in eternity.

Acceptance as Defiance

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Thought & image blend with emotion,
creating a weird creature
of our own creation,
& then
we attempt to control this creature
with language, but the wild horses
of desire,
of impulse & sensation,
cannot be tamed by satiation
or speech.

We must accept the existence
of an empty space,
the place
where we exist;
the solitude
that will always be with us,
& that can not be filled
by consumption;
by that
which consoles & poisons
in equal measure.

Nothing can save us
unless we shred instinct
& learn to forgive,
& to accept,
that sometimes we are scared
& sometimes lonely;
sometimes hurt &
sometimes just horny;

that sometimes
we are nothing more
than another animal,
born of a capricious mother
& a vast,
incomprehensible,
indifferent father,

& that all we really seek
is comfort
& some answers
to our never-ending questions,
& that these motivations
are in conflict with each other.

But acceptance is not giving up:
acceptance is defiance.