harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
i try on a mouth whose teeth glitter like diamond mines from the bedroom window — where he first left a smile on those blue walls.
but it is not enough : this grimace a glow in the dark scar on the mandala which stared me down — your dolorous doll drowned in lamplight and a stained ceiling.
no: my mouth was skewed like metal in collision style with a dream dragged through hell and back — now empty as an egg shell.
and what i should have told my dad was:
"what you feel now is a building standing without foundation: you are a house which stands without a fundamental pillar there beneath it — the absent phone call and empty house, empty chair, empty bed remind you that here you are anyway; miraculously half afloat on a ghost and somehow we go on living anyway — yet what i don't understand is how we can go on after that."
(10/06/2018)
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