Sunday, February 7, 2010

The lies we live.

Sometimes, I do not understand what scares you and why
You hide. You come back wanting more, to know everything,
And coil back and suddenly disappear. I want to know
Everything, the little things, the detail in archaeological remains,
The number of linen bandages Nesyamun wore
The number of times his heart stopped before it was placed in a jar
The black decay of his skin, the ancient paint on his coffins
And what trace they leave on you,
The bits of you in them,
The trace in glass cases you keep it all in,
The cornithian order that surrounds
An empire guarded since eternity.
I want to know.
In fireworks that set the world ablaze,
In people who hold hands, walk by grey mists, statues of men long dead,
Seventeen stars, memories of three-forty and seventeen,
Star-shaped bits of you, I want to know,
And every time I come back I tell myself
This time it'll be slow, this time it'll be right,
It's never slow, it's always right.
It's just the way we balance, it's the way we survive:
You disappear.
I run away.


  1. I hear you.

    The end was good. And your writing keeps getting better and better.

  2. This was simple, but profound. Proof that writing need not contain pretentious devices to touch a stranger's heart.