Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Death [and the dirty mirror]

beautiful both these faces {the identical masks of the twins} raise to the sky for once after this long gaze unbroken set straight from one to the same and in the glassy sea they strain to smile at a face they thought their own how could that possibly be me when i stand here by my side and the other says the same and at once they look away for fear of learning something new for all these many days they both had looked only at themselves and astounded now by the searing hate when one finds in an other something other than themself


scream eternal to know the truth that not everyone is you
one twin bravely stares back into the skay and sees that angel who never left the stalls watching patient awaiting the scene

and the second twin looks down to the dirt and sees the angel too bravo we cried again again could you replay the part with the tears finally we feel the same as you and the twins hold hands and pull each other closer still and closer and closer until

>>and the ground opens and the sky falls and the seasons start anew<<
did i ever know you narcissus calls and falls into the sky did i ever know you calls the other and falls falls falls and as that face becomes the same as dirt and the other the same as storm they take this final glance
and feel
is it happy
is it sad
and die

the angel pulls the rope and the curtain falls and the audience appear confused should we clap now should we clap

and on the face of the curtain the audience sees the audience sees the audience sees 

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The Death [and the longing]


when once blue skies lingered over the bay where war ships lay prone silent still no whispers wait pregnant in their bows the sailors sleep soundly in the gentl breeze {drifting in from subtle seas} and on their finger tips bring dreams of fantastic unity and each is foolish and happily unsaid those fears those regrets not here not yet "on some foreign shores let them rest"

-and for just now sing-

simple melodies and think never so long of the final song rumbling slow deep on distant horizon on some other page yet crave so sweetly that unhappy dirge as well you know this tonal love:

a single pipe and just one drum

beats a simple score

[a theme familiar]

that begs the orchestra to join in harmonic praise for well [too well] we know these clouds>>>>

Help me now erect this pole and capture the storms

how i miss them so... ... ...

[and so together we dug the foundation and grasped the high metal pole and set firm in silver sands a beacon of our despair]

the ferrel clouds errant above the oceans glistening field have but one thought in mind at any given time and from over the edge of the earths unforgiving rocky fascade

where rivers end

where seas fall

::where ocean drifts to eternity::

these black clouds wrench up their tired husks and fought the falling torrent and now launch into the sky
               {the angel's tragic home}



The Twin's Reunion

take to your comfy seat again and know you have no options left but to smile laugh clap and scream at the empty stage [enter ghosts left]

the pin rests heavy at some intersection where this line crosses that and its great arch passes over nimble tides and scratches curved lines on colored sheets fingers crossed it mumbles to itself as it draws this new line far far and further still from womb and onwards still and no rest fortune favors only the wretch and muses in their jellous dance think our scribbles inane and useless hearts chained //rattle rattle// in a length unknown lost long ago their wanton desires lost long ago their free empires their crowns their sceptres their fame and traded in for empty bowls eat well fools eat well for your roles demand reprise.

>>is there supposed to be some beauty here in perfect circles or lesser lines playing completed degrees for i fail to see what glory shines from that going nowhere coming back going forth coming back<<

and of no concern and of no return and yet pick up this pen as though thrown in anger and continue this broken prose it matters to non who writes theses lines it matters less who reads and who dictates sermon or prayer and how well the audience hear at the back they sleep at the sides they love at the front they long to play and rush forth from out the stands taking to the stage and plays this man a frightened king and plays this fool a happy clown and plays these friends the chorus dance

}we purchased a script before we came as we felt certain we'd have this chance to show our lovely teeth and watch closely as we lift our skirts{

::its clear this line made promises to itself that it would wander wherever it would and in some strange way it kept this promise but it appears it was never to itself for it finds that whilst it dallied and traced new curves and escaped that awful spin its anchor weighed too heavy its centre itself the pin::

and the audience reliquish the stage and the twins resume their role and from the skies the backdrop falls and the ovation raised from within and this the monologue and then the reply and this the duologue then

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The Audience's Realization

and as these words came tumbling down they slowed their progress in mid fall and ran together to form a neumonic prayer
in ryhme they cried its rendered in rhyme and done so thusly id add
thus the former and in response the latter she called
and see the metre too it greatly pleases me
and enamoured they were excited and surprised for they felt renewed in gentler light and glared and loved and each member of the gaping clan held anothers hand and begin to sing some song the words of which are clearly irrelevent so dare not inquire theres a good boy for now watch as these pretty rhymes resume their fall (sprawl, scrawl, drawl drivvvel dire debacle mess mess mess) scattered wide and each nailed down as it landed on hills between ports of fame and unity and the song forgotten the melody lost and non but words still linger stale and perfect on our tongue and i cough and splutter to feel the syllabic crackle (ackle ackle cra cra) and she looks down at me taller and more splendid than
::the day in the spring when all things seemed so fragile and eagerly
willing to
and i had to reply so quickly: and with exuberent dignity i prepared to listen carefully she began to say and then i joined in lexiconic harmony as we offered up our prayer.
back out of these dreams coward and face the shining sky see that floating leaf that spirals down towards our face.

The Angel's Retort

>>the cog and the belt are slave and master both and each is angry at the other for leading
him this way or that and still there is no resistance please spin gaily and pleasecomplete your
motion and please stop and one pleads that the other slow down and neither knows who leads
whom and sadly at rest when one is stiff or the other has snapped and yet you lay your woes
upon me and i upon you what proof is given out from cyclical lies and what roof hangs low over
these wanton cries upward and outward but never inside look back from here and this is my
statement to who but myself and i am greater than nothing and you are nothing if less than

Thursday, October 1, 2009

echo and narcissus

and thats really all there is to it she replied as he whittled the last of his wax into a thimble and
barely audiable uttered the same reply in response and this did not calm the nerves of the twins
as they slowly raised their heads to see eachother and themselves and they screamed instantly
in the same voice youre more than enough and i have you here and you have me there and we
cried as we watched the scene as it made us angry to know that these models of existence could
never be more than a dream on the scaled lips of bitter angels rattling off story after story just
for something to do as they wait for some excuse from the bottom from the top and then say
again once upon a time and then eventually it appeared the ears turned inwards and no longer
we waited our minds comfy and blank and empty and begging and we all at once said enough we
know the story and we know how it ends and now you sit and patiently listen as i rattle off this
awful trite over and over and over told story of one and then another and a place to go and a
place to leave or something sadder or faster and when you have listened to this story over and
over you will perhaps after some eons drip through the cloth know that you want to hear no
more of these fantasies and the angel cuts us off and now changed appears to us something
  • the angel's retort.
  • the audiences' realization.
  • the twins' reunion.
  • the death.
  • the abandonment.
  • the eternal.