09-19-2011, 08:04 AM
Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunnelling back
through the months, then years, towards
her body like a lone island.
When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there, mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.
All women share the same spirit,
like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
You're her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour.
Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunnelling back
through the months, then years, towards
her body like a lone island.
When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there, mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.
All women share the same spirit,
like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
You're her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour.
Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe