Since we met
my heart has learned to parkour—
leaps from emotion to emotion
and ways to balance
At some point
will be in a safe place.
jeanmichelle 4-5-13 draft
This glory is fleeting,
no news there.
sic transit gloria mundi–
such a grand sounding way to say
it all goes to shit eventually.
the tide will turn,
the flower will die,
the leaves will fall.
Marvell wooed his mistress with such sentiments.
‘Fuck me while you still are young and moist,’
he says in Elizabethan terms.
Today, the rappers still are wooing virgins
with the threat of growing old before they come;
in a post-apocalyptic shock,
the virgins count their money
and say yes.
(Photo by Sophie Patry.)
Sometimes this burden is too much–
The onus on the perfect one to be an example of relationship, parent, lover?
The shining star,
The ‘good one’–
How is the weight of such goodness
without collapsing under the
foundation of sophistry?
Surely the cracks in the facade
are meeting around the middle,
soon the adulations will
because my bare and black soul
has finally reached
I could never be a lotus-eater, lying indolent on the rocks,
listening to the siren’s call.
I have, however, been indulgent and languishing,
but not dangerously comatose, forswearing all movement
in a sweet inertia; submerged in the sun, swishing my tail
With the beat of the wave against the stones.
Rolling, undulating, sighing with the doldrum nothingness
Of mermaid scales flashing in the sun,
(No siren calls louder than my own hungers)
I have none of the genes of addiction to time’s vacuum, the drowsy slide
into moments which become an eternity of doing nothing,
of rolling endlessly and forever in the arms of Morpheus.
I suppose what I have been
is my own siren, calling out,
to move forward…
jeanmichelle finished 5-1-13