I assemble myself in the dark

A mime before the looking glass

What poor taste to xerox my pain,

What poor taste to smile

In a dead woman’s face.

Each frame haunts me

Like the reels of suffering

Used to kill a soldier’s conscious

If I hold these eyes too long

My soul will disappear

There is no photographer

More adept than a mirror

And no devil more sought.


It’s funny how we pay strangers

To listen to the stories

That we were not meant to tell

Though it doesn’t benefit them

And perhaps diminishes their faith

I sat across from you with my terror

Pinched between my bare knees

And some days I am only a little girl

But you are not my mother

Not my warden, you are a ladder

That I cannot climb, a need

That I do not wish to acquire.


I will not give myself to any man

I’ll live alone spinning whatever it is

That spinsters spin.

There are bats in the eaves

A whole colony of them

They punctuate my silences

With their shrill chirps

I have nothing to say

But the words come regardless

This is my hell to showcase

My scars for an audience

That will never know me wholly

This is my curse

And I endure it , not as a martyr,

For there is no payment

That could compare to my art

Nothing that compares to the rush

Of the grave filling up around me.


These black hieroglyphs

Scatter across the paper

The itching

The thirst for blood

That is my calling

Layer after layer

And always another


I cannot achieve

The depth

Of my predecessors

The worms gag my mouth

A currency, a delicacy

These necrophiliacs

They alone

Understand me.


If I knew my power

Would I employ it?

To what end?

To what end?

Are we all

Muses at our core?

You may call me Galatea

You may love me as stone

From a distance

And you are my opus

The one who remains

Long after I’ve gone

Spreading my seed

My terrible legacy

The dream of dreams

Our dream

A place of hearts.


I staged the photo with my webcam but Isadora took it. She had to time it just when the light was perfect in the mirror she did a good job XD Encase you are wondering that is not a deer head Sam made art with the handlebars of an old bike so it looks like horns. Her b-day is tomorrow so I won’t be around as much.


15 responses to “Audience

  1. i hope she has a wonderful birthday tomorrow!

    if we all knew our power…and did not let ourselves be diminished…or go about diminishing ourselves….i think there is power as well in sharing those scars…not necessarily with an audience…but others that realze their own…

    • It was today, I prepare my posts the night before so I am always slightly off. I hope so Brian. We had a skype with my mom so she could see Isadora opening the presents. My mom’s gifts actually arrived on time and there were a lot of them. There was a problem with my mom’s comp and she sounded like a squirrel and when she started muttering to herself in that squirrel voice we were all in stitches. Sam was at work but we met for lunch. I took her to the art museum and then let her choose one gift to buy. We also played a bunch a games.

      Sharing is important but it is difficult

  2. This tears at not only my mind but my heart; perhaps it’s the mood i’m in today (feeling unduly uneasy with no explanation as to why)..sorry, i don’t mean to ramble but the work has certainly challenged me.
    Bless You!

  3. This is such an interesting poem Yves – and the photo is very complimentary to it. Indeed, well captured 🙂

    I’m simmering and thinking of the many layers of this poem, as it flows and it seems to me the voice speaking is revealing a story from conception to birth to youth – middle age and in some ways, old age into death.

    Highly evocative images and metaphors about pain, and power – the uses or lack there of … and so much complexity in words carefully chosen, which results in a simplicity so powerfully loaded.

    Definitely a piece that will wander through my mind for awhile.

    And happy birthday to Sam 🙂

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