Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Apres moi le deluge

Apres moi le deluge.
You can't break that which isn't yours.
I must go on standing...

This is for you, though you will never know it.

You will never see me dancing, disjointed, grotesque, in my head. Beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other. Bet receipts swirling about me. Wrists slit and bleeding.

Blackness, but for the spotlight. Piano keys. Ballerinas, dancing in darkness. Tutus, taffeta. The tiara catches the light, falls.

My face.

You will never see it. The death in my eyes. Me, dancing, disjointed, grotesque.

I must go on standing.

Beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other. Bet receipts swirling around me. Wrists slit and bleeding.

You can't break that which isn't yours.

This is for you, though you will never know it.

"February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring."

No comments:

Post a Comment