Sunday, June 17, 2012

sightedness

when silence is agreeable, i can hear my thoughts falling slowly to sleep. my sight feels like stars falling in a spiral into my failing imagination. the scenery changes as the ticking overlooking the city seeps into this silence; it is sunshine lingering on my bed. my sight grows silent again, on a sunday night.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

invisibility

When I think of invisibility, Ralph Ellison comes to mind. To be invisible is to be marked, scarred, and highly visible. It is to exude a visibility that is conscientiously blinding. It is to be encoded in ideological masks uneasily worn. It is a winding cry, an inventive laugh, a plotting demeanor. Sometimes, it is marked by panic, and other times relief. It is a desire to forget but be unforgotten. It threatens to transform into a brilliantly inward narcissism.

To quote from Invisible Man: "Instead of the swift imperceptible flowing of time, you are aware of its notes, those points where time stands still or from which it leaps ahead." (6)

Saturday, June 9, 2012

solving a puzzle

diving in for a something else. uncertainties burst. all i seem to remember are coffins. this is misleading: we don't use coffins. cotton balls stuffed in the mouths of the dead. this dividing line between the past, the present, the future, the dead, the living, the self, the other, must be dashed. i crumple at thoughts not my own. this memory is perfect, pristine, and palpable. this is not a metaphor, not a myth, not even a mystery, but my mind.  i yearn for a different cortical imprint. my desire is blocked, my affections ignored. this is not a puzzle, but a melodrama. diving obstructed.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

solitude


solitude is a sinking best left to the graves
a slight shrug, unnoticed
a tipping over in the night
a noiseless, glaring flash

Sunday, June 3, 2012

promises

 it's a black night and curious circumstances, or maybe feelings, circulate without strings attached or suitcases packed; i am alone with my mind at unease bellowing against the tender wind. uninformed ideas and such formed out of promises, more like assumptions regarding another, turn into weeping falsehoods.