I'm a dark and brooding little girl
stuck in the intimate memory
of that cold February afternoon.
Alone.
The deepest, darkest, most romantic of all colors
racing down my fair, quivering thighs.
For a moment, I was proud.
The suffocating blackness of my little, lonesome world
is constantly closing in around me.
I'm clawing at my eyes;
my clumsy, ugly hands are clawing at my flesh;
I want to get back that excitement,
the romance that was my own blood.
Flowing just as though it were some natural cycle
but in reality freed by the hungry, sharp jaws
of small scissors speckled with rust spots.
I am not a woman.
I am not a child of God.
I am a monster.
And no one sees me.
No one ever really sees me.
stuck in the intimate memory
of that cold February afternoon.
Alone.
The deepest, darkest, most romantic of all colors
racing down my fair, quivering thighs.
For a moment, I was proud.
The suffocating blackness of my little, lonesome world
is constantly closing in around me.
I'm clawing at my eyes;
my clumsy, ugly hands are clawing at my flesh;
I want to get back that excitement,
the romance that was my own blood.
Flowing just as though it were some natural cycle
but in reality freed by the hungry, sharp jaws
of small scissors speckled with rust spots.
I am not a woman.
I am not a child of God.
I am a monster.
And no one sees me.
No one ever really sees me.
N'est-que pas que la solitude elle-mème eveille quelque attente fébrile? Voici l'entrée, vide, discrètetement illuminée comme une musée nocturne – la terasse, avec ses torchères ondoyantes par un soir d'Avent étrangement doux – laissant le vestibule et les murmures de voix – la chambre immaculée immaculée et la musique de danse derrière le mur – et le bar à cocktails mondains – le bassin où le nageur s'entrâine, longeur après longeur, il en n'a jamais assez, il doit y mettre de sien – enfin, tournant vers le haut au coin du sombre couloir vient la fille noire et pâle, altière, déterminée et de style épuré, ainsi qu'un moderne avion de chasse suédois.
ReplyDeletePoétudes
SONNET XXXIX FOR KATIE
I went downtown, saw Katie in the nude
on Common Avenue, detracted soltitude
as it were, like a dream-state rosely hued,
like no one else could see her; DAMN! I phewed;
was reciprokelly then, thank heaven, viewed,
bestowed unique hard-on! but NOT eschewed,
contrair-ee-lee, she took a somewhat rude
'n readidy attude of Sex Prelude; it BREWED!
And for a start, i hiccuped "Hi!", imbued
with Moooood! She toodledooed: "How queued
your awe-full specie-ally-tee, Sir Lewd,
to prove (alas!), to have me finely screwed,
and hopef'lly afterwards beloved, wooed,
alive, huh? Don't you even DO it, Duu-uuude!"
My English Poetry Blog
More...
Casualidad sopla la sangre
de alguno señor desconocido
durante los pocos restantes
momentos del resplandor de faroles
que se vislumbran tras el follaje
flameando de las obsesiónes
igual efimero como gotas
del cinzano de la soledad –
En aquel tiempo me levanta
dentro uno incidente avejentado
que en seguida palidece
al camouflaje de abstraccion;
chica, nadie conoce que tus grisos
ojos significan aún; con todo
el sueño que hube evacuado
tu escudriñas nuevamente.
My spanish poetry blog
More...
Consider Sex and time, procreation, reincarnation. Trigonometry! I envisage the time axis as the repetitive tangens function. Do you see what I mean? What can be tentatively derived from this notion? Clue: orgasm AND birth pangs at tan 0.
My Philosophy
My Music Blog
My Babe Wallpapers
You are very welcome to promote your blog on mine. They are well frequented, so there's mutual benefit.
- Peter Ingestad, Sweden