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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:04:16 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 76358
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Nakota’s Life after a Czarnobyl
[time] => 2004-12-18 14:48:44
[hometext] => ***
[bodytext] => When I go outside I feel like the wind is laced with fat I feel like I am being suffocated by the sun’s hot flashes, so what I do, so I go back inside where the shadows are servants to (inside) my mind have I told you about my wedding gown pillows? Yes, they are now stained with yellow stretch marks, really I am too lazy to wash them. In consequence I sleep with the smell of failed raw-n-cold love dipping into my unconsciousness and these pillows and these sheets make me feel like I am never going to be clean, and I am afraid of loosing my skin when I roll around in my bed. Alone. I am living in a house made out of coloring books black lines gorge and white bubbles pop at my feet and nothing is full and whole, everything is empty, the voice in my tub— please, color in my heart, or cut it out and drown it. Sometimes, at night the space-sh*t lands in my kitchen and takes me to see the rubber stars there I free myself from the fog in my head, there darkness is not a mirror, it is a cave made out of fur, and comfort. Next morning outside the wind smells like a dead deer, and the pillows, the pillows are now dead too. I bury the wedding gifts in my backyard trying hard not to breathe the perpetual disease air. The reflection in my breasts shows that my hair is braided and I don’t know who touched me when I took a nap. I just don’t know. I guess I love him I guess he was a poet I guess I am still an artist I guess… life is inside our heads. When he died at the factory in Czarnobyl shot himself in the throat his life exploding one cell at time bending jerking leaving…me. He spoke as his eyes wandered across the world, across the heaven he spoke to me with a voice of a successful suicide raspy and excited he told me this, grabbing the veil off my head, he whispered this to me, to Nakota: “Bones and skin don’t last forever my lunatic love for you will as love gets older, Nakota weakness will evaporate through your pores one day You will come alive …and our love will breathe again.” [comments] => 3 [counter] => 289 [topic] => 43 [informant] => ina [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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