Hallucinations: take #2 I I wander off the vacant papers. How painful it is to stare at vacant papers! And they stare back at me. And other things stare too. And I wander astray to distract myself with other things to do. I see shadows of trees, papers sleeping in a breeze, and echoes that come and go. I listen carefully, and I hear repeat, of poetry. Of Neruda and Eliot, of The Smiths singing in a cemetery. II Ssssssssssss pfooooo: the wind tickles my energy. And a squeaky violin. But I hear nothing, but pain, moaning, a screamed opera under water. Suppression. Repression. Restraint. Oppression. Autocracy. Refrain. I wonder, I ponder, I hinder, and the echoes come back again. In serenity. In peace. In pain. The smell of French wine, of ripe apricots, a shabby woman laying in a shrine. And rotten, blue cheese. The trumpet blows, and sneeze: melody and noise; and it makes no difference. For we leave, without hindrance. We live, a mechanical existence. And we die, like vacant papers: bare, pale, still, indifferent; we die, staring at the sky. And they still stare back at me, like white handkerchief of goodbye.
Posted on: Sat, 25 Oct 2014 10:00:16 +0000