he sits on the jagged edge of
crumbling stone glued together
by cruel time's embrace
a wretched gargoyle perched
feeding on hopeless Notre Dame romantics
she counts the moonlit scales
that shreds reptilian tears
playing Russian roulette
on an infinite revolver
'he loves me, he loves me ...not?'
he impales his underbelly on the pointed arch
seeping an ache through
stained glass. hopeless defiance against
Siren's wet refrain - is your Odysseus
seeking a common safe haven?
his flying buttress removed
so Gorgon tendrils follow
the tail end of Styx daggers to complete
masonry's cardiac lobotomy.
but a familiar tug gives push
to grey claws on greyer belfry
ascending, shedding stoneskin inertia
grasping empty air, to barely contain
a longing half-satiated by precious vantage.
she fletches an arrow.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
herstory.
Was it vindication
Or relief?
Light captured in that narrow aperture tunnel
summing up, that quarter decade (and then halves more -
rounded off, +/-1 because you just weren't taught to count)
An ineffectual reminder of duty done, and then -
soon you'll be Dusted?
How'd you piece together our jigsawed youths
and return us the happy ending (that we+you2 应得的？)
Or were you the one unwashed knight,
that emperor wearing the leper skin, shedding that fur decades late
the tale of an ugly duckling that you just couldn't
tell (or know anyway)
did you spy a familiar silhouette
three Cinderellas realised just as the dial turns,
full circle, or twirl with broken, dead hands that
dust-sweeper, envious of fairy-godmother's chances
that never got sieved to you?
(the pumpkin carriage that no matter how hard,
it just turned to mush on a porcelain plate for five)
'I've always wondered how it would feel to look through those glazed eyes that must have seen half a century of bitterness and regret. How it must have felt venting life's unfeeling sentences on the doe-eyeds (without meaning to), and knowing that you were never far off unfairness' parole. How vindication laced with regret would taste. Was this culmination in spite of, or despite, your best efforts?'
I'll like to think it goes something like this:
'Hush my babies hush.
Hush because I just might cry.'
Or relief?
Light captured in that narrow aperture tunnel
summing up, that quarter decade (and then halves more -
rounded off, +/-1 because you just weren't taught to count)
An ineffectual reminder of duty done, and then -
soon you'll be Dusted?
How'd you piece together our jigsawed youths
and return us the happy ending (that we+you2 应得的？)
Or were you the one unwashed knight,
that emperor wearing the leper skin, shedding that fur decades late
the tale of an ugly duckling that you just couldn't
tell (or know anyway)
did you spy a familiar silhouette
three Cinderellas realised just as the dial turns,
full circle, or twirl with broken, dead hands that
dust-sweeper, envious of fairy-godmother's chances
that never got sieved to you?
(the pumpkin carriage that no matter how hard,
it just turned to mush on a porcelain plate for five)
'I've always wondered how it would feel to look through those glazed eyes that must have seen half a century of bitterness and regret. How it must have felt venting life's unfeeling sentences on the doe-eyeds (without meaning to), and knowing that you were never far off unfairness' parole. How vindication laced with regret would taste. Was this culmination in spite of, or despite, your best efforts?'
I'll like to think it goes something like this:
'Hush my babies hush.
Hush because I just might cry.'
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