18 nov. 2009

You wanted a poem about the cold

You wanted a poem about the cold
The cold that grows from inside-
Out and invades the blood of the cheeks and the warm tears
Past the blanket and the soft dim light of your bedroom.

You tremble so, dear, such tremors
That an anxious mouse cannot achieve
And worse, your stale and cellar head
Is stuck on one imagining:
The criss-crossed lovers
Under the hanging tree
Feeling that they owned each others lips-
You bought the trick!
(And everyone in the audience got up and left
You perplexed, alone, staring at that hat and dead rabbit
Whose joke was on you)!

You shut eyes and all these phones with rythmic dial tones no one dials
and no one calls and no one rings
But you who shouts at the receiver:
"I cannot will
not hate you.
You probably won't ever again seek my sway
You don't exist, were never half
Will not repent, lament, just laugh
And graph a gimmicky trail to tear my ventricles apart
And some one else will love you more and be your life and death"

Why do you trip in winter?
Why do these things happen when it's cold?

Maybe you saw it coming and wanted something to hold.
But all you've gone and done is make yourself grow older.
You wake from sleep and oh! It's getting colder.

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