Edge of her skin
There’s some kind of light at the end
Stoned, forgetful, and then
I’m drinking what used to be sin
And touching the edge of her skin
And could you be the one that’s not afraid
To look me in the eye
I swear I would collapse
If I would tell how I think you fell
From the sky
My words, they pour
Like children to the playground
Children to the playground
You make me smile.
It’s the feeling I get
My palms with sweat
Like some kind of daydream
I’ll never forget
I’m stuck in this spin
Why does it begin
By touching the edge of her skin
becoming the truth
Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours,
So gentle and quiet – we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,
Are this dream, becoming the truth,
Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favor,
The light ring of your silver spurs…
- Anna Akhmatova
Why can’t it be mine?
Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did.
All five horizons revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn
Ooh, and all I taught her was everything
Ooh, I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands shake beneath the clouds
Of what was everything.
Oh, the pictures had all been washed in black, Tattooed everything…
I take a walk outside
I’m surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear?
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I’m spinning, oh, I’m spinning
How quick the sun can drop away
And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything?
All the pictures have all been washed in black, Tattooed everything…
All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I’ll be… yeah…
I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a sun in somebody else’s sky, but why
Why, why can’t it be, why can’t it be mine?
I ran
See, I think you’re scared. You put up a big glass wall to keep from getting hurt. But it also keeps you from getting touched. It’s a risk, isn’t it, girl? At least I had the guts to admit what I felt. Someday you’re gonna have to come up with the courage to admit you care.
‘I care’ she said.
I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom
I let go. Like in business I always say ‘a bad hire strengthens the competition’s hand. A good general feeds off his enemy.’
Actually, Sun Tsu said that last line. In The Art of War. and I don’t give a fuck!
This is a Photograph of Me
It was taken some time ago
At first it seems to be
a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flecks blended with the paper;
then, as you scan it, you can see something in the left-hand corner a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree (balsam or spruce) emerging and, to the right, halfway up what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake, and beyond that, some low hills.
The photograph was taken the day after I drowned. I am in the lake, in the center of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where precisely, or to say how large or how small I am: the effect of water on light is a distortion.
(But if you look long enough eventually you will see me.)
This is a Photograph of Me
