Monday, July 23, 2007

widget

Some internal widget

automatic overflow
esoteric unsuspected
ticks away

internal
monitoring ups and downs
highs and low





is there a ratio?
some quota I don't understand?

that the process
- random beyond control -
must have some balance?



Is there a secret waterline?
normality functionality only bearable so long
an unused muscle
easily strained
reaches capacity, some predetermined scope

mettle fatigue gives way to overflow.




Is there a rule?
every twenty-first, thirteenth, eighth hour?
an optimum interval for respite and recovery?

there is no recovery
only absence




overflow trickles into awareness
pulsing
prickling at my eyelids

triggered by nothing at all
emotional cramp seizing out of nowhere




the widget
a trembling compass point
hair trigger fault line



grief like a thirst not to be met by salty tears
nor without



they come again.
simply because.


they're there.
they must be cried
and no one else can do it for me.

Monday, July 09, 2007

drips

the days drip by

at some distance

distances
distancing
doling out their separate continuities

pooling into patterns, welling up

strange familiar currents
ripples
depths and calms
dreamlike surreal



a drip at a time
wearing new grooves into resistant stone
eroding the ground under my feet
layering ugly limescale like a scar


what will i do?


feeble fickle attention snags briefly on some drifting interest

swirls and eddies
caught between extremes of drought and drowning
out of my depth


what do these drips and drabs of time have to do with me?

Sunday, July 01, 2007

body

There wasn't nearly enough holding
kissing cuddling stroking

she became so fragile by the end
it felt as if she'd break if squeezed too tight


I washed her failing body more than once
almost unbearable
handle with care
cautious of crushing
painfully precious solid heavy distorted frangible flesh

clumsy as clay
precious as porcelain



It wasn't enough

there was a once
a moment
eternity of months ago
i kneeled and buried my face in her poor dear stomach

we wept
she stroked my hair
i can still feel her fingers

If only i could be back there still
not present in this here and now


she should be here to hold me