2001-05-13 - 3:24 a.m. - more poem.
i would like to preface this by saying these poem parts are all rough, im just putting them up here for the fuck of it and because i have nothing else to put up here. here are the 3rd and 4th parts...that means one more remains to be written. i have bad writers block so it may be a while. these two installments draw heavilyon Eliots The Waste Land(my poem is a response of sorts to it), a Saturday looks Good To Me song, a Hot Water Music Song, Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, Homi Bhbha and Edward Said, an REM song, a Bob Dyla song, and of course Baba O'Riley byt he Who...some of the past influence have been Bruce Springsteen(who also appears in this one), REM, Lovesick, Aloha, wizard of Oz, and others...after the fifth part ill post my notes explaining all my allusions and quotes...just like Eliot did...hope yer enjoying this...if you want to give me feedback(tear this baby to shreds, the more criticism the better it will end up being) my email is [email protected]here ya go.
III. The Broken Voice
We heard the thunder
Coming across the horizon, such
A lonely, freight train rumble
Carrying a cargo of broken
Hearts abd wasted lives.
It's a shame, really.
Caught up in the anticipation of
Another sunrise,
Watching splinters of pink
And orange crack the navy
Blue sheet that hung over
Our eyes for so many hours.
And then the clouds, thick
And grey like memory,
Like unspoken words, and the approach
Of that beautiful, baritone
Moan, graceful and gutteral.
'Let's go in, get out
of the rain'
'it's not raining'
'it will, soon.'
'just listen.'
We did. And felt the rattle
Inside our bones with each syllable.
What is it saying?
Again the storm's song howls,
Shaking the tears from our eyes.
What is it saying?
I hold your wrist in my hand,
And count the beats of your heart
Between crashes, measuring
Distance, the pulse of the storm.
What is it saying?
Finally, the rain breaks
Free from its prison, the sky.
Our bodies remain motionless,
Every nerve ending shattered
After out prolonged attempts to break
The syncopated rhythm of thunder.
What is it saying?
Nothing.
There is no code, never was.
Thunder is only thunder and we
Have wasted our ears attempting
To draw meaning from sound
That is meant, only to vibrate the oxygen
We breathe, nothing more.
Next, a flash. 10,000 wedding photographs,
All taken at the same time, from somewhere
In the sky, chisels a new crack
Across the clouds. And on the ground,
Where our shadows were cast by the sun
Before this tempest came to break
Our peace, is burnt
A sillhouette of you and I.
From the grey outline, I can tell
Your hair is matted, and would guide
The water down your forehead
To your eyes. This rain burns,
Turns to tears and cries itself out.
This is all that will be left
Of us, a shadow.
And now your voice, cracked
From so much crying:
"What are you thinking?"
"You don't want to know."
"Tell me what you are
thinking."
"You don't want the ghosts
and sleepless nights, cast
in the shadow of my words."
"You never tell me
what you are thinking.
Tell me, and I will listen."
"You don't want to listen."
"I do."
"You don't listen."
Look down at the bottom of the hill,
See the broken, rotted bodies
And dilated pupils, the yellow
Teeth and failed livers?
These are the children of an age.
"don't cry"
"I'm not looking."
"Don't raise your eyes."
"What is happening?"
"It's only teenage wasteland."
Take my hand. There must be something
More beautiful, somewhere
Beyond the graves of the living,
The children born from tears, the broken
Hearts and the cracked bones.
Someday.
Someday, we'll get out of here,
Leave tom and ezra in their tower
And cindarella mopping floors
Someday.
When will I be a bird, I mean
When can I sing. When will
You let me.
Someday.
Until then, though, be watchful
Of men from the city who
Will hypnotize you with their
Suits and ties.
And if you're needing inspiration,
Remember that we were born
To run.
III. What the Vampire Said.
In April, we walked
Across the battleground, and kicked
The black and blue earth
Beneath our feet, careful
To avoid the white
Crosses carved from bone.
"Be cautious of landmines
and the tortured pantomimes
of high school drop outs�"
"but where are the trenches
of our enemies?"
"Beneath your feet, darling."
This wasteland is without end, or opposition.
Homi Bhabha and Edward Said
Are writing papers about the redefinition
Of youth culture in this liminal space,
The fallout from two eras colliding,
This motherfucking beyond,
This one sided war, while we
Stand, unassembled puzzles
Of flesh. They say
Once there was a man.
He kneeled down, as if to pray
And kissed the ground
With tongue and teeth.
Nosferatu! The people whispered,
As he drank the blood from the earth,
Spilled from our veins.
Nosferatu, the vampire.
And in a buzz and a flash
We blinded, then dust.
"But the land can't
heal on a diet
of blood and dust."
Just before you
Disappear.
I wish I could cry.
The nosferatue was said to have stood
Up after his meal of earth and blood,
Soil stained chin and roots
Caught in his teeth and said:
"I wish I could die."
Datta.
Dayadhvam.
Damyata.
I wish I could cry, sometimes.
I don't want to be blinded.
�
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