26 April, 2011

A glass half empty

You had come to me,
an ardent sliver of dawn,
washing me in a passionate sunbeam.

It was orange, it was real, 
It looked right at me and seared my soul,
It was vicious and untame, 
It fed on your heart and bled my name.
I refused to whisper back,
splintering your smiling sunbeam,
into a million little
inconsolable sorrows.

The tables turn now and I watch myself 
trapeze, a circus monkey
building my own precious moonbeams
that no one wants.
They are beautiful,
liquid marble, beads of wanton wonder,
vessels of my whims. 
I call aloud and sell my wares
to the grotesque night,
to the frolicking fireflies,
to owls and the bats,
to the sparkling body-less eyes. 

And I watch as my beams shatter,
now mere icicles of glass,
splintering, melting, slipping,
in and out of a cursed existence. 

You yawn,
Its a sordid tale you've read too often,
Tonight, you've got a prettier dawn to paint.

12 April, 2011

Park Parody VII

The sun has a strange way of distorting time. It slows down the minutes into lazy warm swirls. Lazy. Warm. Swirls. Time then becomes a loop of dilly dallying seconds and unhurried hours. Lethargy assumes transcendental dimensions. I polish off a dollop of golden warmth greedily. A little girl skips in circles near the yellow flowers. Cotton clothes flutter in the lulling breeze. A worn out bench creaks in the shade. The grass sighs under me as I turn, burying my face into it. A memory fights to pierce my blissful blankness. An errant cloud passes over. The sun outshines itself, caressing me into pleasant slumber.    

Bliss was invented on a sunny day with puppies.


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