“And so it was i entered the broken world…”

(originally posted 12/2/09)

I am not here.
Green isn’t a color its a world.  The air glitters with a perfume comprised of both magic and decay.  I greedily inhale and try to identify what it is about this uncanny fragrance that is so familiar.  Beauty without tragedy is unnerving in its falsity.  This is not false.  Walking through the saturated streets, I am aware of the rain’s singular purpose – to drown me.  “You bring the rain,” he said.  Why?  What is it rinsing away?
There is nothing more real than 2am.  More precisely, 2am in worn heels and smeared makeup with all the wind and the rain whispering gently, “you know nothing.”  And I am enveloped by this rain and this heavy air which is thick with sex and tragedy.  I walk with my beauty broken down and with my small, chipped-polish, school-girl hands I offer my vulnerability to this city like a sadistic lover.  “Babydoll,” I hear, “Butterfly,” “Girl of fire and dead roses.”  And i believe in the secrets and the bewitching beauty of all that is broken.  Please don’t ask me to tell you who I am.  Please don’t ask me to prove myself.  Now it is just me and the rain and my heart still broken.
Dream Song 29
-John Berryman
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry’s heart
so heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry’s ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.
And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes. he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody’s missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.


~ by ngrblogadmin on January 11, 2010.

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