07-02-2018, 01:03 AM
Marigold parts II, III and IV. I left the first part out.
Marigold
“pictures all in a row”
"I Must Have Died Alone, A Long, Long Time Ago"
Kurt Cobain (David Bowie)
Women are wicked, but a man has drugs
or skills. Put the Weird Sisters record on pause,
they'll be there,
you run out and they'll know where to get it,
where the red fern, the sidewalk,
the weather suits, the proverbial
predicates they've had all along
in the back of their good-natured eyes.
The two things a man needs, she can provide.
Your parents have their own lives,
like everybody,
each is a clone of two
in one, and all was.
We're never alone,
even when we die.
That must be why you couldn't just retire,
bring the parents with you, all the stomachs
and corporate magazines. And your daughter,
you and her all over again.
A Lady Macbeth who just wanted celebrity
can get it on her own.
Though there's small profit in comparisons.
That legendary suicide is such a bore.
"I'm an Ignorant Man"
I don't know you,
your first defense is your best,
and each who come back
to recharge on your angst
and penultimate miseries,
a tourist running the bulls
in a suit of armor,
and now play you over and over
like the man who's had enough
at a live press conference
removing his life from an envelope,
receive their inspiration from a ghoul
now rotten or charred
like any victim of their own ignorant fate.
For each individual hope is different,
what couldn't be prevented can't be changed, and
each new instance is a new instance
without the slightest resemblance, despite outcome.
Death is the least Romantic thing,
it's immortality through tragedy
and people who are remembered,
a whole world in a scene, a realm
that becomes this world forever.
Your trailer looked more
like a yardsale nobody wanted.
Nobody learnt their lesson but you
in your last moment;
if they had no time for you in life,
how much more they have now.
You swung in the ignoble gloaming
for 20 minutes
with no one except indifferent crickets
if some joker hadn't called you;
not a dog, if you climbed up there
a cat trying to get away,
to sniff round the base of that resolute tree.
You're not the first or the last,
barely an iota;
though you earned full name status
with us, like Lee Harvey Oswald,
you didn’t kill a president,
only yourself;
any precedent you set
is nothing to speak of.
Though, things have grown
quiet, nor Cassandra nor adolescent Sibyl,
you remain only you
as if no higher self was possible,
now no dilettante idol in fields of rye need
eye your dancing steps too close to the edge;
in your eyes there was play, then this.
Not famous for doing nothing
in your off hours, a sister-mother to your siblings,
then this.
Parts Unknown
The snake was not a rope
and wouldn't bite you,
it was your way out.
But you wanted the Garden.
For the cruel world to go away,
but you only wanted reality;
not a god to watch you like a mirror
in your anxious moments
getting ready to go out on your bike
or catch the bus.
Louise, you had nothing already,
why did you need more
to prove you there is nothing in the dark
but a body just as gorgeous empty
and our beauty empty,
and your love just another memory
that must become more and more forgotten
over the years if one's expected to go on.
Marigold
“pictures all in a row”
"I Must Have Died Alone, A Long, Long Time Ago"
Kurt Cobain (David Bowie)
Women are wicked, but a man has drugs
or skills. Put the Weird Sisters record on pause,
they'll be there,
you run out and they'll know where to get it,
where the red fern, the sidewalk,
the weather suits, the proverbial
predicates they've had all along
in the back of their good-natured eyes.
The two things a man needs, she can provide.
Your parents have their own lives,
like everybody,
each is a clone of two
in one, and all was.
We're never alone,
even when we die.
That must be why you couldn't just retire,
bring the parents with you, all the stomachs
and corporate magazines. And your daughter,
you and her all over again.
A Lady Macbeth who just wanted celebrity
can get it on her own.
Though there's small profit in comparisons.
That legendary suicide is such a bore.
"I'm an Ignorant Man"
I don't know you,
your first defense is your best,
and each who come back
to recharge on your angst
and penultimate miseries,
a tourist running the bulls
in a suit of armor,
and now play you over and over
like the man who's had enough
at a live press conference
removing his life from an envelope,
receive their inspiration from a ghoul
now rotten or charred
like any victim of their own ignorant fate.
For each individual hope is different,
what couldn't be prevented can't be changed, and
each new instance is a new instance
without the slightest resemblance, despite outcome.
Death is the least Romantic thing,
it's immortality through tragedy
and people who are remembered,
a whole world in a scene, a realm
that becomes this world forever.
Your trailer looked more
like a yardsale nobody wanted.
Nobody learnt their lesson but you
in your last moment;
if they had no time for you in life,
how much more they have now.
You swung in the ignoble gloaming
for 20 minutes
with no one except indifferent crickets
if some joker hadn't called you;
not a dog, if you climbed up there
a cat trying to get away,
to sniff round the base of that resolute tree.
You're not the first or the last,
barely an iota;
though you earned full name status
with us, like Lee Harvey Oswald,
you didn’t kill a president,
only yourself;
any precedent you set
is nothing to speak of.
Though, things have grown
quiet, nor Cassandra nor adolescent Sibyl,
you remain only you
as if no higher self was possible,
now no dilettante idol in fields of rye need
eye your dancing steps too close to the edge;
in your eyes there was play, then this.
Not famous for doing nothing
in your off hours, a sister-mother to your siblings,
then this.
Parts Unknown
The snake was not a rope
and wouldn't bite you,
it was your way out.
But you wanted the Garden.
For the cruel world to go away,
but you only wanted reality;
not a god to watch you like a mirror
in your anxious moments
getting ready to go out on your bike
or catch the bus.
Louise, you had nothing already,
why did you need more
to prove you there is nothing in the dark
but a body just as gorgeous empty
and our beauty empty,
and your love just another memory
that must become more and more forgotten
over the years if one's expected to go on.