Wear your robes & have your trial.
Find me guilty, don’t
believe a thing I say;
don’t believe it could just be fucked up sincerity:
make me the monster you need
me to be:
I’ll be your Narcissus, your spider
& you can be the fly, you can be
Echo
If that’s what you need.
“From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.”
― The Trial
For you, the one I barely knew
You’re gone:
a leap, the water beneath,
& now I’ll never see you again.
You’re gone…
fuck
From viscous to liquid; a silent
eruption behind the iris;
beyond language,
not
knowing how
or when or from where.
Do you remember those mornings,
the breathing trees observing a
moon fading & sun bleeding
across the sky,
your arm
linked with mine?
How time dilated &
the gaze was so benign?
Now,
two seasons
later & nostalgia sharpens that strange
blade: a weapon that leaves no trace
except for a particular posture;
glazed
eyes seeing only spectral projections,
the way cats seems to see
into some hidden distance.
From liquid to viscous;
the cat is not vicious, the blade
not dangerous;
our parallax view has changed &
separated.
One for
me & another for you.
“Words are beautiful” Che said “but actions
are meaningful”.
Defiant to the end,
before a bullet broke through his skull.
The man of action reduced to such beautiful
last words:
“You cannot kill a revolution!”
Or is that just a myth,
am I remembering it wrong
as I have done
so many times
(too many times)
when
we spent those stolen moments together?
Why am I writing poetry
while you are on the other side of the
city,
living a better life without words like
these:
only noise thrown into the void,
another waste waiting
for rejection.
Why did I choose words
over actions?
“I get hammered, forget you exist / there’s no way I’m forgetting this”*
your hair, shed like feathers discovered in
now all only a memory
photographs of long lost days
the silence, the speech, the years of peace
& bored
where the remains may let new life flourish.
* Scott Huchison
Words for Ghosts 