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

finding soulmates

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,

Its dissatisfactions?

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

two apace.


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

  a memory

“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.

 –diane o’leary 2010ophelia_filtered

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