Published May 6, 2005
unlucky hours of september colour the sky
a grazed silver, the sun lies vacantly.
i wish it would rasp, collapse, leave us stinging,
like the blurry red line on my wrist from dragging teeth.
plane table diagrams, cat food, hardback books, amber war movies,
that's what today leaked of,
those are the stale remains i overlook,
tonight,
as the perpetual night overlooks my room
and deliriously yellow cards ask me
"qu'est-ce que tu voudrais faire pendant ton sejour?"
me, i make up scattering words
which could be anyone's, i'll be happy if i arrive
and my mindbodysoul are all in one piece.
the garnished streets of my memories
are numbing, they are gathering fine dust.
my fingers are crimson and the cap of my pen
is prussian blue and the night is monday the thirteenth,
brittle, unripe.
written: Monday 13th September 2004, 7:49pm.
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141,439 Literary Works • 674,453 Reviews
emotion_less: No, it's not obvious at all! Basically I have 13 poems for each day before I went to France last year. Each one reflects what was going on that day...and this is it for "three".
Thanks guys, I really appreciate the comments!
This was really beautiful. Except I have question, which might make me look dumb because the answer is probably obvious... why is it called "three"? Or do you not count the last part? Anyway, really nice job.
You have a beauitful way with prose; each stanza is exquisitly written and it's a joy to read this poem aloud. One of these days you should really think about self-publishing a collection of your poems.