Feb. 22nd, 2011 01:27 pm
spaceoasis: (Default)
[personal profile] spaceoasis
Stuttering against my teeth, my tongue catches words
Some of these are not real, others flash as flashcards
In the theater of my mind, I see pictures and faces
They do not speak, it is my nostalgia that speaks
Opens their eyes to the depth behind them in life

When in reality, nothing much lies behind pupils
Besides more black, yet blindfolded I can feel
The speed bumps of thought, the inhale-exhale
I know what you will say, so I am not interested
In your future, your predictable hunger and cold

Something protects me from surprise and boredom
And they are the regularities of this line, this stanza
Filling in incomplete thoughts in the space after form
Calls for more, the finishing touch, one last push
To finish and listen for the pleasure of writing poetry.

Just keep writing and the mysteries will reveal
Play on whatever level you can, subterranean
Motifs the mud, lofty ambitions red blossoms
I have no love for mud, swollen like fat flash
Squelching under my foot, it wants to pull me under

My skin color is freshly fallen leaves drying
I see the lines running through it like veins
Gravity and I am green, hiding red underneath
Blood and flowers in the day under white sun
White purists dangle lowly for midnight moth

But it cannot have me, I am red and it is green
I may camouflage under wrinkled leaves
But my flushing blood tells me I am as rare
As the red blossom, and my wounds tell me
Slipping away, blood tells me I am not infinite

Crimson is my flesh, I am closer to fire than sun
I am unleashed with kerosene and flint,
It is the tinder, browned my skin, woody monoliths
I am the lightning, the spark of flame,
Like treachery and destruction, inhumane

I am red, the deepest slowest of the colors
I am scarlet, tinge and rouge, glamorous
I am crimson screaming murder, seductive
I am incarnadine, the tragedienne singing
Of her torrid affairs in the infrared desert.
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