Friday 17 November 2017

28/01/16 (For Saphir)


28/01/16 (For Saphir)



You want to take a step back from the monster
but you do not see that this void is all consuming
and that within it there is no such thing as movement.

you, the monster, the void, and I are all the very same thing.

My weakness and failure is that I pretend to let your naivety and ignorance control this deception.

To not explain to you
how the monster is your mother
brother
dead father
sister 
and son.

that the monster is not a scarred result of rape and pillage
but a new born baby filled with as much love, light and hope
as the raging fire of lust and attraction you fight to extract your searing skin away from now

the irony IS
that i too
daily reject the monster you flee
that i too
must believe in witches
mythology
false gurus
fake friends
and the true non-believers
who will turn all that is the best of our monsters
into the very essence of what sane men should fear.

it is normal for you to be running backwards from me.
and sad.
sad
that you will only make it back to where we already were
once i am nothing more than a memory,
or a nightmare that will never disappear.


You treat me like a killer.
A murderer of emotion with no feelings of my own.
You, the distraught bloodied victim
I, the rabid dog
aimlessly infecting the weak
and immature.

In 6 days the world around us was created.
In 3 i rip it up and tear it all to shit.

and how many days will this suffering last out
until sun down?
the next offer of an awkward fuck with a stranger i feel nothing for?
or until we have worn each other down right to the very bone?

there is nothing worse than love
left to die.

love
too fearful to breathe.

LOVE.


within the very centre of all the shared pain that is our love
all i want is to hold you close.

to simply lie still at your side

hold your hand

have your head lay on my chest

and whisper together
the spells of a language we don’t understand.
incantations,
that will undo all of the things that never cease to torment us.


what do we talk about when we talk about love?
Carver wanted to know this
and now
today
i understand.

love is not for life
it is the second where your fingers pulled softly away from my own
and i knew that it would be the last time i ever touch you.

love is not for life
it is the first words that we never even spoke
and the sly smile you tried to hide behind them

love is not for life
it is the provocations i can’t control
that turn us all into monsters
out of fear of being forever alone
and in pain.

love is not for life.
it is for secrets never to be taken back
then held over our heads like weapons of war
forever suspended in the ever nearing knowledge of our brutal end.

love is not a shortcut
that can be reached by the back road of Up Beat Beer
joints
and cocktails of Xanax, Valium, Tramadol, and Klononpin. 

love is not for life.

love is not for the living.

love is not for those who can never grow up
and compromise.

love is certainly not for a beautiful jewel
who belongs only to the universe
and knows nothing of these mortal fools
she has been forced to live amongst

love is not for a man
who fits not in the skin he was given
and takes fright each time a mirror reflects his image.

love is not repetition,
and nor is it soft.
it hurts and burns.

by your own hand
it slices indelible suffering into your skin
which in turn leave its own eternal imprint on my too soft heart

love is boring.
no, it is not.
it is never that.

love can be found
but only at the very edge of insanity.

love can be shared
but only in flashes.
like shooting stars
jumping dolphins
in the silhouetted glide of an eagle across the sky with a snake in its mouth
(and this I did say)

love is the falling sun
that we can never stop from leaving
even when we know that its tomorrow will bring
nothing more than fraud and pale imitation
of this perfect day that went before it.

love is nothing that is not romantic.
it stands alone
beneath the beauty of the stars
under which we are all eternally dying
at the same pace
in the same moment
stranded
grasping at the futile nostalgia for that other light we never even saw.

love is blah blah blah
a joke.
a poem of nothing
sometimes of everything.
a madness that has no cure.

love is the help that those from outside of us
bring to make us strong.
it is my brother who sees me walking only tall like a king
it is your sister who wipes your tears away when you cry and reminds you that you can never be anything but beautiful.

love is long.
yes, it is.
very short sometimes too.

love is a secret place
where i sit with Indians
and think only of you,
hoping that one day,
far away
these words will make you smile,
feel stronger,
and love me back in return a little,
even if only for a second that i will never know existed

love is everything that is lost in communication.
it is schlug.
sheshbesh.
mine-i-mum.
and “translate.”

love,
this love,
will come to an end
it will stab me in the heart
with my own spear
as i pass you on the beach
and turn in the other direction
knowing that where once you wanted only a smile
now you cannot bear to see my face.

love is the darkest part of my mind.
all that is confusion.
every dark spot that covers the light.

and love is a mirror.
one you must be afraid of.
the one which i stand before
but in which you can only truly see yourself.

love is knowing too well
that what hurts one so deeply
will only destroy another even more.

love is something i have never known
but fight to guess at 
and grab for everyday.

love is Sisyphus.

Sisyphus walking his hill,
arms and legs sore
under the terrible weight of his rock.

his love is that which punishment could not take away
and which he continues to carry in his heart.

love is the wife Sisyphus fooled the gods to see just one more time.
it is the colour of the sea.
the sound of his son’s voice.
and your smile.

then the sudden,
momentary enlightenment,
where his arms and legs hurt no more
the rock bears no weight
nor the hill any inclination.

and Sisyphus is still

Sisyphus is…


I don’t know what the fuck Sisyphus is.



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