do you know when you read a book that’s just so well written that when you finish it you can’t help but just sit there in silence for a few minutes just thinking about it, and then you reread the last couple pages, and just close the book and kind of stroke the cover in a weird sort of way and just keep thinking because it leaves such a strong impression on you that it just kinda haunts you in the back of your mind for the next few days
I’m sorry/not sorry about the sudden burst of nonsensical sound-imagery poetry tonight.
Most of it was speedily written after listening to a particular piece of music. That technique seems to work well for me.
Please do read them. Reblogs? Likes? Feedback? (Stuff like, “you used that word twice, hello!” or “this part was really poignant” ) That would be nice.
These landsharks can handle truth,
thin-slicing it with silver-fine teeth
until it shrivels into slender strips
and schools collect their surfeit scraps.
Lie. Lie, lie, and lie again
to muddy the waters.
Mary kept her sheep very near at hand,
Tapping them often with the crook of her staff.
One day, some of them rose on wings
As naturally as if they had evolved that day.
She had not known them to be angels.
After that, Mary wondered
If Gentiles’ pigs could also fly.
Pious Mary took her lambs to slaughter
For Passover. Bread and butter, oil and mutton;
It made a most delicious meal.
The lame lamb stumbled into a ditch
And was abandoned, but made it home
As a zombie. It was a sweet thing before
It died, one last time, spear through the heart.
Another year her best lamb was sacrificed,
Sent to heaven to be with the Holy Ghost,
Without so much as a by-your-leave.
Mary plays in the forest with her last lamb,
And she wishes
Not to be disturbed anymore.
No rumors can reach her.
No tears can hurt her.
The still, constant contrails of airplanes
So strangely, they comfort her
Much like the flapping wings of doves.
In the department stores the marble models
Wear solid stripes, and it looks like shadow
Imprints of smoke and printed jails of light.
How must you have perceived it?
So ask yourself, what perfected you?
To wear the veil is common this season.
So do whatever you please, as you please.
Put on the beige and the gloss,
Sunglasses and a scarf, pursed lips.
It is your choice to be common;
This is your justice as you perceived it,
Your choice. Everything is as you please,
According to your dissatisfactions.
Wavering back and forth. Setting one way
And deciding again, changing the path of—steps.
Forgive me, I stumbled. I hadn’t meant you
To see that. Let me on my way, if I
Can find it, that is. Somewhere past that tree,
Oh, but that place meant something to us—to you, didn’t it?
I’m sorry. The wind swept away my feelings.
You’ll let them go, won’t you?
Don’t trust anything I say as the sun is setting.
Then I will be truthful.
You’ll see. Eventually I will contradict my words.