Saturday, 2 April 2011

day/poem 2

Highly dissatisfied with this, and already wondering if I can stick to this for 30 days... I can't bear knowing that I'm not pleased with it, and knowing that I want to twist and fine-tune. But I have to stop - have way too much other stuff to do.

(contains a line or two from James Blake's 'limit to your love', which i have had on repeat many many times in the past week or so. it entrances me to a disturbing degree. 5 listens in a row to get this done.)

- - no help for it - -

that place
all dank splendour
moss encrusted walls dripping their disdain
decadence in green fur, velveteen walls alive and heaving
encrusted diamond patches of neglect
rich with rust, an endless abundance

first step on that sweeping staircase sinks
as runner drips and melts, beyond sponge soft
giving of itself unwilling, yielding to pressure
an oil-thick dark slick ichor of pure putrescence


and it doesn't matter that this isn't the place you wish for
not the one you dream of inhabiting when head meets down
and you drift into the world beyond this
no mind - it inhabits you
quite ably replaces dream with nightmare
plays generous host to all you would have hidden
twists longing, cunning hands these, into despair
takes hope and dashes it recklessly wrecking at your expense

like a map with no ocean this place extends
beyond belief and deeper than is proper
an offence to rationality, its impossible array 
nothing to see down here - keep going

tangible loss drawing air too close
scratching windpipe sore, from rough to bleeding
walls closing in, collapsing air's passage
leaving you delicately broken
dumped and disposed at the edge of more

and you would crawl if it weren't that disgust holds you fast
motionless in the face of all you can't bear
you would walk away, attempt desertion
but sometimes you have to realise 
walking won't lead to waking won't lead to this being behind
sometimes even walking away doesn't help

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