I still remember
the way sleep smells,
the bitter cleanse,
the syncopated fog
twirling beneath my temples.
An avocado tincture
elastic against my tongue
and I too feeble to swallow.
These white walls,
not unlike a timepiece,
tick and snarl.
Every time I draw near
I am drawn apart.
–
My visceral ravings
pummeled by currents
indigestible without compensation.
All it takes to be happy
is to let go of the ego
and if you cannot let go
let the machine drink
of your memories, of your sorrows,
of your belligerence.
I don’t remember when
I became you and I can’t say,
unequivocally, that I have.
–
Normal is relative
under certain circumstances
and in certain company
I am quite ordinary.
There are so many versions
of myself, volumes taken up
and laid down with pages missing
and whole passages blackened
to charcoal by the phoenix
underneath my tongue.
crisply written
thanks!
This is phenomenal poetry. I’m particularly fond of these sections:
the first ten lines
“and if you cannot let go
let the machine drink
of your memories, of your sorrows,
of your belligerence” … I will never let go, nor will I do anything to feed machines. I think they are the root of all evil. Hands are out of work because machines have taken over. It pisses me off that we’re raising children who really have to go to college or they won’t be able to get jobs and take care of their families. I wish we could go back to growing our own food, etc. and just trading and sharing supplies. I’m just about ready to become Amish. 😛
the last three lines … love those too
I know exactly what you mean, I sometimes think of returning to such a life but I imagine it is bloody hard work! Work with purpose and honor though. I have no idea how well I’d do in that scenario, I certainly don’t possess the skills for it at present
Your poem reminds me of a horrible time when in hospital I was given morphine. The resultant weird hallucinations still haunt me and I cannot understand why people would take drugs for fun.
That sounds quite scary. I hope you’re okay, now? Not everyone has the same reaction, I hear.
I am okay! I haven’t had electroshock therapy myself, I’ve only read and viewed bios of people who have
I have no idea either. My husband had an appendectomy a few years ago and they gave him morphine he also hated it, it made him feel quite ill, did nothing for the pain, and gave him nightmares. Have you written about your dreams?
I thought I had, but can’t find it. This rubbish was written around that time: https://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2013/08/24/a-silent-six-word-satursay/
This was beautiful. The opening was sublime. Your last lines read like the setting for a gothic romance: “and whole passages blackened to charcoal by the phoenix underneath my tongue.”
Wow thank you so much!
Letting go is so simple and yet the most difficult thing of all. Thank you for your resonant words.
Thank you for your lovely comment =)
Wow! What a vision you have painted Yves!
and if you cannot let go
let the machine drink
of your memories, of your sorrows,
of your belligerence.
mind-blowing! (no pun intended) – the line – let the machine drink – chilling but fascinating.
and whole passages blackened
to charcoal by the phoenix
underneath my tongue.
strange, unsettling and wholly disturbing, in a fascinating and macabre way – brilliant!
Thank you so much! I am glad you liked it XD I was reading Sylvia Plath, that coupled with electroshock from the Wordle and you have my inspiration for the piece
Greatly written poem.
Superb imagination. 🙂
Thank you!
You welcome!
I love the whole thing, but I really adore the ending, it has very vivid and striking imagery.
Thank you so much XD
That last stanza I think describes most of us!
Well done. We are so many facets and yet we are a single gem to those who help to polish our being 😉
Wow thank you!
“Every time I draw near, I am drawn apart” – that line keeps haunting me. Love this!
Awww thanks Sara =)