05-31-2013, 06:14 PM
http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/showthread.php?tid=1868&pid=128418#pid128418
Katie Jane Garside: Taxidermy
Just before the day I’ll be dying
more than a little,
let me show you some
of those cozy niches I discovered
wandering bravely along
my private paths of madness.
One of these hides up on a slope
at the backside of an ancient castle.
Back from the taxidermist you can
put my padded body next to you
on the low stone bench garlanded
by bushes of lilac and inhale the panorama
of the river delta far down below
with all its seven shades of green
and three shades of brown
and the azure of the sky being messed up
by the gray billowing clouds of sad memories.
Until then I’ll keep hovering above my nest
of stones that talk of neighbours.
I am unkempt and sweating,
nude except for the shadow
covering my genitals,
sipping from a small glass of cuba libre,
with my lungs feasting
on the biting smoke of my cigarette.
I open my mind like a begging hand
expecting metaphors like hummingbirds
to settle down on it and disturb
the perfect symmetry of the boredom of being.
At that flickering instance of the night,
when sleep catches your breath,
you tell the ruins of my mind
to dance so good.
Katie Jane Garside: Taxidermy
Just before the day I’ll be dying
more than a little,
let me show you some
of those cozy niches I discovered
wandering bravely along
my private paths of madness.
One of these hides up on a slope
at the backside of an ancient castle.
Back from the taxidermist you can
put my padded body next to you
on the low stone bench garlanded
by bushes of lilac and inhale the panorama
of the river delta far down below
with all its seven shades of green
and three shades of brown
and the azure of the sky being messed up
by the gray billowing clouds of sad memories.
Until then I’ll keep hovering above my nest
of stones that talk of neighbours.
I am unkempt and sweating,
nude except for the shadow
covering my genitals,
sipping from a small glass of cuba libre,
with my lungs feasting
on the biting smoke of my cigarette.
I open my mind like a begging hand
expecting metaphors like hummingbirds
to settle down on it and disturb
the perfect symmetry of the boredom of being.
At that flickering instance of the night,
when sleep catches your breath,
you tell the ruins of my mind
to dance so good.
