It’s Friday, but it feels
like Monday.
It’s March, but it feels
like Hell.
Off to the races without tires.
The tank is full. If you light a match,
I’ll burn.
I need a helper,
but they are allergic to me.
In the Balloon, I see them swim the Channel.
They’re safe because sharks are flying after me,
eating the only good pieces.
There is pain and beauty of the stars
that explode in the back of my neck.
Why do you tire of wanting to fly again?
Think carefully. Don’t make a mess.
They won’t remember me,
a wren in a dark cave
with ugly eyes like death.
A mess is a bad memory.
No foreshadow.
Silence is brutally good.
stillfugue 
#1 by kolembo on March 5, 2011 - 4:49 am
Oh it’s lovely, like bits of coloured paper scattered to the wind. And set off so wonderfully…
…Off to the races without tires.
The tank is full. If you light a match,
I’ll burn…
Then the words take off, chasing themselves in the sky and on the earth and laughing, laughing in silence. It’s gorgeous, read it twice.
Lovely.
#2 by Carl on March 5, 2011 - 9:55 am
These are very nice words from you, K. I appreciate your kindness. It is these things that keep me going.
#3 by Evelyn on March 5, 2011 - 7:15 pm
“There is pain and beauty of the stars
that explode in the back of my neck.
Why do you tire of wanting to fly again?
Think carefully. Don’t make a mess.
They won’t remember me,
a wren in a dark cave
with ugly eyes like death.”
I love these lines. huge chunk of goodness.
the wren in the dark cave, I swear I can see the eyes.
you performed unbelievable magic with those words.
#4 by Carl on March 6, 2011 - 12:02 am
You are so kind. Thank you for your words. You cause me to wonder whether the ending is three lines before where it is now. I think it is. Sometimes, I want a smart twist or a sharp point at the end, but ending after the eyes might be better here.
Time to do some exercises!