January 7, 2009 - Wednesday
 | Bethlehem Lint and The Opponent Current mood: Shining :) Category: Shining :) Life 2 new poems :) I posted 1 of them yesterday but it was buried between some other stuff. The first one is the most recent and really is a reworking of the second one in some ways, but they go together and are about the same topic and emotions. Enjoy and comment :) Thank you :) Keep Shining :) Bethlehem Lint (Raiders of the Lost Ark revisited) My red string broke again and I keep forgetting to look up bedbugs online because the prospect of dumping, losing, letting everything go, makes me weep. Just a piece of red wool - wound round Rachel's tomb - with traces of your off white jacket, the one you lent me when your crossed arm, closed off chest wouldn't hold my hand after we played Lego Indiana Jones on your Xbox 360 degree turn separation - "honey from the rock - now you're being nice again, not counting the hand-holding, both of us terrified that more than fuzz will be exchanged and if we cut too deep, our bones may become exposed then again, I tip-toe around your open gangrene wounds and you "forget" kissing me, go back to your corner cave, hiding, stop calling, until I pounce - denial - claw each other, stab, maul verbally. Why can't we play nice in this sandbox stove top broken bottle needle nose pliers string along circus tent chess match? after Chanukkah, another, unknown girl, friend of a mutual friend, threw up all over your new year's eve party get laid drunk dunk think tank plan - 1:39am - so angry - for so long but not at me, not really. I can hold my own liquor, know limits but still there's the pest problem. At least by Thurs I'll have a new string, left wrist, no more evil eye, this time clean. ver. 1.1 Jan 2009 The Opponent Has Hidden Our Ark of the Covenant Again Because your room is cold and we don't hold each other anymore, you embrace me with your Marc Ecko cut and sew hoodie. I'm Marion, you're Indy. We are made of Legosä. We play games on tv, lying on your broken bed, feet entwined, we giggle, press buttons as I hit you with a shovel and you encircle my waist with your whip, pull me in for a virtual kiss. Later when we talk, you refuse to hold my hand, pace around the periphery, jangle loose change, wont' look at me. At home I spritz your creamy jacket with perfume and rose water, sleep inside its hollows, wear it, you, everywhere so when I return it, you won't forget my smell. We both know you're a liar, you still love me. We're just afraid to open the Xbox.
Annette Sugden ver. 1.5/December,2008
|
