by E. Wong
for the Zusuaregi drunkards on Saturday night
And so when I stab my chest
it isn’t to kill myself fast
but to prove if rumors are true
that what lies beneath contains
all my yearnings and madnesses
But though a magical dagger
I use, there’s still no
affirmation,
for my brain has long been dead
And so I have to smash my head
against the wall—not cement
but wood, for I like the scent
of varnish conjuring memories,
mostly romantic, the rest
erotic—but what else
on my mind
but fairy tale envisagements?
Yet I am still standing, so I chop
off my feet that had walked towards
your home, which felt like my home
Next gone are my trembling hands
which once upon a time
held your hands
Now with all this deep red dripping,
splattering—you might as well swim
in my sea of blood which tastes
sweet without the bitterness
of the living
And my cadaver: no longer one
body, but chunks and pieces,
little bodies with no sense
of heart or mind, of pain
or hunger or sadness
But then, even without
orchestral music— violets,
yes, violets, and more violets,
fragrant, beautiful flowers spring
from my corpse all of a sudden—
Oh what a lovely night
to die again
__________________________
Artwork is a painting at the Louvre in France
All My Accidental Christmas Cheers
1 day ago
I like the poem. So serious and candid and yet, very entertaining as words got all together in a poem.
ReplyDeleteOne time in my life, I was there...checking if...
'rumors are true
that what lies beneath contains
all my yearnings and madnesses'
Keep writing.
Hi Fernand,
ReplyDeletethanks so much for your kind words. Yep, I don't think I could ever stop writing now...
Cheers!