hole cut out of my life
I am you
just another version, that’s all.
now, in the twilight of middle age
I discover I am merely flesh and blood with no heart.
the winds blow through my soul
encountering no obstacle
on the grassless prairie
still, I am far away.
haunted by my demons and my muse
late nights are a way to closeness
i read plath and sexton
crushed and created
broken and built
not merely words on two dimensional pages
“I know the bottom she says. I know it with my great tap root:
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it. I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me,
Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?”
Stasis in darkness
O Ariel, you sing to me
of dirges and funeral marches
and cut thumbs
and bleeding souls.
there is nothing like the bloodless
shadow of loneliness
of being claimed by memory
sad songs do not reclaim you
nor does art
or the postcards written long ago
there is only the cold wind
whistling round the empty attic
of my body
simply inhabiting space
until that time.
the sun shines on dusty rooms
old words written on yellowed pages
when i teach
“dead hands, dead stringencies”
I call you Orphan, orphan
We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,
Me and you.”
so sings Ariel.