Friday, June 13, 2014

drifting - a very rough copy of a tanka sequence


drifting


depressed
because my books
weren't nominated
for a Lammy
fierce

like Plath’s
“great African cat,”
I have let things slip
the flowers need water
but they weigh me down with

the present
of life
eat everything I breathe
like dangerous animals,
free, and completely empty

gift
nameless, flat, black
and white
intrusion of eyes
I am a new persona

caught
in a neurotic stillness,
anesthetized
until there is little,
if anything, left to do but sleep

I dream
about alcoholic binges
one night stands
in bathhouses
where the thick vapor of lust

fogs
my sense of identity
and cold
mouths suck
on my face

I am wrapped
inside my own
mirror
laughing, struggling
with my pride

until I break loose
step on the needle shards
of my life
tamed, old, fat
looking for a way out

of this room
where I once felt
the need
to write about myself
until the tulips turned red

the guilt
subsided
and life went on to bigger
and better heights
deep within my failing sight

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