Post by scriptamanent on Dec 15, 2008 13:56:25 GMT -5
I. The Many Antonyms of Sobriety
1. bad tripping
They still talk about the one Banished..
Did he really have wooden false teeth
like George Washington?
When was the last time he was seen
in town?
The Banished one,
no longer bound like the rest of them,
Enchants sirens and tames the monsters
of the sea
According to some young ladies'
deflowered assumptions.
The whores and his pals assume his arse is dead,
that a python or a tiger
In some far-off jungle
Ate him alive, refusing to believe
he was guilty as hell.
His wife without wanting to hear from him again,
misses his misanthropy nonetheless, and
his son blames him for his short right leg..
II. The Icy Chill of Impenitence
There was a treasure hidden in the town..
- Actually it was up on the mountain once upon a time -
And the Banished one knew exactly where.
It was unforgivable knowledge that he used to brag about.
The treasure was not his, we all came to this place
looking for it, but like with most dead ends, wives got pregnant.
Not my long-missing wife, she was busy with a plan to find a lover,
preferably a vagrant broom seller or knife-grinder.
When the first baby was born, the treasure became a myth.
When the first child died, we knew we'd never leave.
But the point is, our lives shot by a chimera
were too belittled by then. And at Christmas,
already waist-deep in damnation,
the absence of a Church, too chilling.
III. The Anticlockwise Return Of A Ghost
I could have the town lying asleep on my palm,
But then I wouldn’t be able to walk through the walls
Of your bedroom at night, to almost touch
Your breast, the one which like a white hen
Hatches the heart-shaped egg my thought grows inside.
All this time nothing is more comforting
Than your shadow in the back of my mind,
All this time, I have stayed awake for the sake of your pride,
Promised myself eternal reposefulness as soon as
You, a treasure, tell me you’re mine.
This is not who I am, and I had no idea you even existed,
Such beautiful girls usually die fresh.
The real me spends his time in brothels
Most of the time drunk, speaking harshly, smelling awful.
What got into me, with that old story,
Telling everybody I knew where it was,
And why did they look up to me,
I was not handsome, political or fearless.
Each secret in my exile revealed itself. Now I know.
I have the power to control time,
Even though I limp more, which reminds me of my son,
And her. But not you. Nothing reminds me of you,
It’s so dark when I visit, so pure.
A whore where I am said she had seen my eyebrows before,
Mistaken them for the horns of a bull. Here they call me Minotaur.
IV. JACOB
We buried his son rather hastily,
and Marjory said a whiff of gunpowder
was hanging around his cross-less grave
for a year.
We told her it was impossible, that it's been three years,
that we put a cross, maybe the wind, other shootings
somewhere else..
No, she said, who, then, two years ago, raped her in the woods,
and who knows her nostrils so well? "Was it you Jacob?"
And Jacob left, nodding "Yes." She said, "He's leaving,
aren't you going to stop him?"
We were inspecting her nostrils, two perfect little black holes
on her marmoreal nose.
She shouldn't be seeing Jacob's ghost, and we shouldn't be seeing
hers.
V. The Hatless Guy In Town
She said "I don't want to know"..
Tom's Mom was telling me about Jacob and that prostitute
Looking a lot like Marjory,
His favorite, in fact the only girl he'd sleep with
According to Tom, or his Mom.
And apparently, the new brothel,
Was the harbinger of the third church,
Not surprised,
Nothing here was – in terms of sanity – hunky-dory.
We kissed on the edge of the wood,
After our first fight at Mr. Rothman's hat store.
(My ex who took with her two dresses, one of my pair of shoes
And every hat in the house came to mind
When Marjory insisted on buying
One for me, the hatless guy in town..)
"My brother's life is none of our business"
Marjory added, intoxicated by my kiss.
“Yes but what about yours? Is it perhaps his?”
Saw her leaving for the last time, the question
Never reaching her ears,
Disappearing in the solemn hierarchy of indifferent trees..
VI.
Three-Sons-Sentence For A Judge
"There is always", he said,
"Silentium post clamores"
and he went to bed,
perhaps to give an example
of what kind of silence,
with the Bible under his arm,
yawning impressively..
None of his sons wished to listen to the sound
of his self-righteous snoring,
"Let's go find and scare the shit out of Tom".
An hour later a vehement gust
opened the window of his bedroom,
the shutters kept rattling while
six-handed-justice crept in.
Next morning his black cat,
was found playing with the open Bible,
wagging her tail next to his open mouth,
he, still gaping at whatever
decided to visit him during the night
because of Tom..
TO BE CONTINUED (probably..)
1. bad tripping
They still talk about the one Banished..
Did he really have wooden false teeth
like George Washington?
When was the last time he was seen
in town?
The Banished one,
no longer bound like the rest of them,
Enchants sirens and tames the monsters
of the sea
According to some young ladies'
deflowered assumptions.
The whores and his pals assume his arse is dead,
that a python or a tiger
In some far-off jungle
Ate him alive, refusing to believe
he was guilty as hell.
His wife without wanting to hear from him again,
misses his misanthropy nonetheless, and
his son blames him for his short right leg..
II. The Icy Chill of Impenitence
There was a treasure hidden in the town..
- Actually it was up on the mountain once upon a time -
And the Banished one knew exactly where.
It was unforgivable knowledge that he used to brag about.
The treasure was not his, we all came to this place
looking for it, but like with most dead ends, wives got pregnant.
Not my long-missing wife, she was busy with a plan to find a lover,
preferably a vagrant broom seller or knife-grinder.
When the first baby was born, the treasure became a myth.
When the first child died, we knew we'd never leave.
But the point is, our lives shot by a chimera
were too belittled by then. And at Christmas,
already waist-deep in damnation,
the absence of a Church, too chilling.
III. The Anticlockwise Return Of A Ghost
I could have the town lying asleep on my palm,
But then I wouldn’t be able to walk through the walls
Of your bedroom at night, to almost touch
Your breast, the one which like a white hen
Hatches the heart-shaped egg my thought grows inside.
All this time nothing is more comforting
Than your shadow in the back of my mind,
All this time, I have stayed awake for the sake of your pride,
Promised myself eternal reposefulness as soon as
You, a treasure, tell me you’re mine.
This is not who I am, and I had no idea you even existed,
Such beautiful girls usually die fresh.
The real me spends his time in brothels
Most of the time drunk, speaking harshly, smelling awful.
What got into me, with that old story,
Telling everybody I knew where it was,
And why did they look up to me,
I was not handsome, political or fearless.
Each secret in my exile revealed itself. Now I know.
I have the power to control time,
Even though I limp more, which reminds me of my son,
And her. But not you. Nothing reminds me of you,
It’s so dark when I visit, so pure.
A whore where I am said she had seen my eyebrows before,
Mistaken them for the horns of a bull. Here they call me Minotaur.
IV. JACOB
We buried his son rather hastily,
and Marjory said a whiff of gunpowder
was hanging around his cross-less grave
for a year.
We told her it was impossible, that it's been three years,
that we put a cross, maybe the wind, other shootings
somewhere else..
No, she said, who, then, two years ago, raped her in the woods,
and who knows her nostrils so well? "Was it you Jacob?"
And Jacob left, nodding "Yes." She said, "He's leaving,
aren't you going to stop him?"
We were inspecting her nostrils, two perfect little black holes
on her marmoreal nose.
She shouldn't be seeing Jacob's ghost, and we shouldn't be seeing
hers.
V. The Hatless Guy In Town
She said "I don't want to know"..
Tom's Mom was telling me about Jacob and that prostitute
Looking a lot like Marjory,
His favorite, in fact the only girl he'd sleep with
According to Tom, or his Mom.
And apparently, the new brothel,
Was the harbinger of the third church,
Not surprised,
Nothing here was – in terms of sanity – hunky-dory.
We kissed on the edge of the wood,
After our first fight at Mr. Rothman's hat store.
(My ex who took with her two dresses, one of my pair of shoes
And every hat in the house came to mind
When Marjory insisted on buying
One for me, the hatless guy in town..)
"My brother's life is none of our business"
Marjory added, intoxicated by my kiss.
“Yes but what about yours? Is it perhaps his?”
Saw her leaving for the last time, the question
Never reaching her ears,
Disappearing in the solemn hierarchy of indifferent trees..
VI.
Three-Sons-Sentence For A Judge
"There is always", he said,
"Silentium post clamores"
and he went to bed,
perhaps to give an example
of what kind of silence,
with the Bible under his arm,
yawning impressively..
None of his sons wished to listen to the sound
of his self-righteous snoring,
"Let's go find and scare the shit out of Tom".
An hour later a vehement gust
opened the window of his bedroom,
the shutters kept rattling while
six-handed-justice crept in.
Next morning his black cat,
was found playing with the open Bible,
wagging her tail next to his open mouth,
he, still gaping at whatever
decided to visit him during the night
because of Tom..
TO BE CONTINUED (probably..)