― Archel (Archel), Monday, 20 September 2004 08:41 (sixteen years ago) link
― Archel (Archel), Monday, 20 September 2004 08:47 (sixteen years ago) link
This is a cheapjack gift at the years end.This is a double-glazing hymn for wind.This is a palm frond held out to a friendWho holds her lifeline lightly in her hand. As fine sand filaments the unclenched handOr leaves the palm grit-filmed but crazed, lines endAcross prismatic windscreens. Every friendA meteorologist's diagram of wind. Blow smoke into the fist of either handAnd pull it tight and loop it round the endof every night held up by wine and friend,Sootflecked and leaning on a London wind. Then say our ribboned smoke's erased by wind,Our glass is sand. You start, but in the end,Somehow, I stay. You stay, somehow, my friendWho grips me tightest in her open hand.
― Archel (Archel), Monday, 20 September 2004 08:57 (sixteen years ago) link
― Casuistry (Chris P), Tuesday, 21 September 2004 00:47 (sixteen years ago) link
Ever been tattooed? It takes a whim of iron,takes sweating in the antiseptic-stinking parlour,nothing to read but motorcycle magazinesbefore the blood-sopped cotton, and, of course, the needle,all for — at best — some Chinese dragon.But mostly they do hearts,
hearts skewered, blurry, spurting like the Sacred Hearton the arms of bikers and sailors.Even in prison they get by with biro ink and broken glass,carving hearts into their arms and shoulders.But women's are more intimate. They hide theirs,under shirts and jeans, in order to bestow them.
Like Tracy, who confessed she'd had hers doneone legless weekend with her ex.Heart. Arrow. Even the bastard's initials, R.J.L.somewhere where it hurt, she said,and when I asked here where, snapped 'Liverpool'.
Wherever it was, she’d had it sliced awayleaving a scar, she said, pink and glassybut small, and better than having his mark on her,
that self-same mark of Valentinus,who was flayed for love, but who never— so the cardinals now say — existed.Desanctified, apocryphal, like Christopher,like the scar you never showed me, Trace,your ( ), your ex, your 'Liverpool'.
Still, when I unwrap the odd anonymous noteI let myself believe that its from you.
― Jerry the Nipper (Jerrynipper), Tuesday, 21 September 2004 06:29 (sixteen years ago) link
For the present there is just one moon,though every level pond gives back another.
But the bright disc shining in the black lagoon,perceived by astrophysicist and lover,
is milliseconds old. And even that light'sseven minutes older than its source.
And the stars we think we see on moonless nightsare long extinguished. And, of course,
this very moment, as you read this line,is literally gone before you know it.
Forget the here-and-now. We have no timebut this device of wantonness and wit.
Make me this present then: your hand in mineand we'll live out our lives in it.
― Archel (Archel), Tuesday, 21 September 2004 11:11 (sixteen years ago) link
― rrrobyn (rrrobyn), Tuesday, 21 September 2004 15:25 (sixteen years ago) link
― Momus (Momus), Sunday, 31 October 2004 23:02 (sixteen years ago) link
How many times today is my heart going to crush my throat, eh?
― Ann Sterzinger (Ann Sterzinger), Thursday, 4 November 2004 01:51 (sixteen years ago) link