Wednesday, July 28, 2010

canoe still life

The water is soft,
meaningless fog creeps inside my eyes,
a cloak of invisibility a shroud to brain speaking and intelligent whispers.
glup glup glup glub glub blug blug! bubbles away the heavy mixed tonic as it submerges with the lake, one, two
cloth sticks skin on skin, the dampness of a tropical heat, and pruney toes //
these are the things that only I know as I – I become a part of this scene
and underneath it, stuck in mud, a harsh thread cuts open my fingerprints with shattered blood
disappearing without a trace, I embrace the scent of iron with my whole.

I lick up this locked-up lake with eyes of yearning and misinterpretation,
A canoe tugs behind me and false, weak stilettos walk across the bottomless base
Thrashing through the puddle is in fact no effort at all – but is the opposite of effort as in effortless.
I pull up to the shore where I had seen five – six of you waiting
Trailed by a piranha and his razor teeth, curly jungle hair like a scary doll which I fear not at all
I am walking on thin air though not stifled by it,
Feeling awake, alive enough to crawl through beds, eyeless, faceless, rather than play a tennis game.
Fame, it is a noble, creeping monster that lurks in the spirit house.

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