The day I stopped living
(*)(*)รทยถ
~~
The day I stopped living
now faded
beyond memory
fragmented
horrors
stirring
The day I stopped living
the ghost came down
the attic clown
in clogs
slowly turning
mirrors cracking
my waltzing Matilda
a dutchess
in dreaming
The day I stopped living
I toppled
stirring
frowning down the
piper of Maris —
burning
The only form poetry I write
is one that fits the pockets
of a wood —
overcoat
I think the frustration boiled down to either
A) it was 8.45pm and it was still +32C outside and the open windows did not help a damn bit, it wouldn’t get any colder today, fact
B) there was no time for the wine to chill before I opened the container, and lukewarm White is such a pleasure to consume, right
I reckon it is probably both plus the fact that I realised that learning a new language requires either sound proof walls or… Yeah that’s about it, repeating out loud on a bus or whilst walking down the road is just asking for trouble. Plus plus a fact I haven’t considered, maybe learning a new language through the means of a second language is a bad idea to start with.
So right now I picture frozen lakes at Christmas time, people on skates, a cold drink in my hand – covered by mittens.
I was not aware; no
the warning sign;(s)
well obscured; hidden
unsighted by choice
seemingly, lustless
dreams and longings
for goal yet lacking
the ball(s) to kick
the day would come
sooner than so; so
so written
among the leaves
scattered; so spoken
by those gone before me
so blatent
yet impervious my skin
filled of sin; and rotten
acorns
I was not aware; no
one day my steps
would shorten; the
pace; cadence actual
no longer matching
the thoughts driving
me forward; or back
undeniably
I was not aware; no
that one day I could
feel older
older than I actually
was
older than so and so
those word once spoken
though true
ultimately ignored and
all lessons to be learnt
once more
by living
Today I kill you with green
mortification by envy
in part justified
in part grass
a regurgitated death of
a heartless queen
of dreams
Today I kill you with green
Today I kill —
the dream
I walked the streets of
Paris, le gay Pari’, though
no rainbow I saw; just the
gray that was beneath me,
my mind uneased by
the not knowing
the not speaking
them not speaking
the not quite belonging
not just yet – anyway
