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A collaboration over too much coffee.
coffee and pen

03 March, 2005

in the mirrors of distant women

suddenly I find myself fragmented
in the mirrors of distant women
i see myself washed up rippled
on waves of wordlessness
i run around picking up the shards
it's a strange time this
neither rush of day
nor squeeze of night
neither song nor madness
frantically i rebuild the pieces
but who is this
tongue, eyes, nipple
all in the wrong places,
colours, taste, paper, keys -
all wrong. the clock
is ticking, my soul
is growing fat. quickly
i ripple myself up again
in the cracked mirrors
of distant women

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5 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Something about your poem haunted me and brought me back to this page thrice today...

- The Devil's Surrogate

03 March, 2005 18:48  
Blogger SPECKLED_BAND said...

The last three lines are graphic. :)

03 March, 2005 20:09  
Blogger Rhymebawd said...

suddenly I find myself
fragmented in the mirrors
of distant women i see myself
washed up
rippled
on waves of wordlessness
i run around picking up
the shards

it's a strange time this -- neither
rush of day nor
squeeze of night neither
song nor madness

frantically i rebuild
but who is this --
tongue
eyes
nipple
all
in the wrong places
colours
taste
paper
keys
all wrong

the clock is ticking
my soul is growing fat
quickly i ripple myself up
again in the cracked mirrors
of distant women

04 March, 2005 00:15  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

you, of many women
what makes you think
you will ever be whole again?

you, of a fat soul
did you ever have one to begin with ?

you, picker of fragmented mirror shards
have you really known mad nights of black song ever ?
refelected in the mirrors of your distant women ?

you of many fragments,
have you ever been whole ?
ever ?

05 March, 2005 20:56  
Blogger Pincushion said...

Your poem reminded me of a Picasso painting! Beautiful and provoking, it jolts you!
Its a 'cubist' poem, maudlin perspectives rearranged!

Exquisite.

06 March, 2005 22:26  

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