THE WAY YOU COME IN CRASHING THROUGH THE CEILING
IN YOUR BURNING NIGHTGOWN SCREAMING WITH YOUR MOUTH ALL SMEARED
AND BLOOD POURING FROM YOUR EARS AND INTO OUR QUIET LIVING SPACE YOU
BRIEFLY REMIND US OF THE IMPENDING DISASTER THEY TALK ABOUT ON TV
AND THIS IS WHERE “HERE" AND “YOU SEE" AND “THROUGH" AND “THE TEXT"
AND “AND" AND “OUT" OR IS IT “IN" THAT DISAPPEARS HERE?
“SOMETHING" IS MISSING, I'M SURE OF IT.
THE BACKWARDS SPIRAL THROUGH EVERY DEGREE YEAR AND MARK
IS NOT ENOUGH ALL WORDS WHITE AND LEAVING SMOKING SKIDMARKS
ARE NOT ENOUGH AND “I SHIFT FROM THIRD INTO
FOURTH THEN FIFTH GEAR AND TAKE OFF" ISN'T EVEN ENOUGH
AND I PULL OVER AND FLASH THE HEADLIGHTS AND OVERTAKE THEM
“NOTHING IS ENOUGH"
SYLVIA SYLVIA SYLVIA SYLVIA
SHE SQUATS IN THE SHOWER HOWLING
SHE CROSSES HER ARMS AND BENDS OVER SLOWLY
SHE CLIMBS IN BETWEEN HER LEGS O DIFFICULT
SHE SLIDES IN WET AND SLIPPERY AND
DISAPPEARS WILLLLLYA LOOKAT THAT
I REPEAT: THE READER WITH X-RAY VISION JUMPS OUT LIKE A MEASURING
TAPE TWISTING HIMSELF BLINKING LOOP-DE LOOP THROUGH METAPHORS
BUT IT ALWAYS RESULTS IN A JOURNEY/A PILGRIMAGE/A SAFARI
HE TRICKED US INTO THROUGH LAYERS UPON LAYERS OF TANGLE
I didn't consciously think surrealism with SYLVIA. This series is more meant as an exploration of "now", or the moment that is "now".
I have relatives who spend their lives in the past, and friends with their heads so far into the future they never experience the now, so I've tried to avoid both in this series.
My idea of an ideal poem is one that exists only while you read it. Start anywhere and stop anywhere, and when you return you might begin somewhere else and it will be a different experience.
I have a poem coming up in the third part, which I think is getting close.
I'm going to post it in its original form, and one "interpreted" by adding line breaks and punctuation. I hate to do so, but I don't want to scare away the twenty coolest readers on SoFurry.