Verse

Too much rosé


“I’m Taking a year off to head Downsouth,

to be by the ocean and collect my thoughts.”

 

“That is so lovely, I wish I could do the same thing. You really deserve it.”

 

“I just want to step away from the circle

to kind of, deconstruct myself, you know.

Because lately, I’ve felt like most of myself

is borrowed.”

 

“I know, I know- my sister’s friend did a similar thing up in the mountains

and she came back radiant.

Now she makes jewellery and its

going really well. I’m happy for you,

this is so exciting.”

 

“Yes, it is.”
.
After three months of drinking the sweet South,

where at nine in the evening

your options are to sleep

or water the white anthuriums,

a rosé in hand

half-listening to a voice documentary

about Syria (to keep informed)

and the racket of crickets (to keep going on).

In either case, there is only one option for the view: the grand night of ocean sounds, serious stars and coconut palms.

This full-circle view for the last ninety two nights is now cut into the back of my eyes;

and in my long sleeps there was only one dream that I had-

long palms and white stars that swum drunk in a pink sea mass.

 

If at nine o’clock in the evening,

while you are watering white anthuriums

in the seaside South

with a rosé in hand,

you find yourself wondering

‘Now what?’,

clearly, happiness is a semblance.

                                   

Marjorie Content

Image – Marjorie Content, Anthurium, Gelatin-silver print, 1931

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Sonder

Midnight man in Bambalapitiya: part 3

Was that you inside your face?
You said you had a name,
but it wasn’t Midnight.
 
Carrying a house on back you said
you’re going to build a shack on promised land – it was free,
and it’ll have a wife and windows facing the sunset,
coloured walls, a bed and other sensible things.
 
You’ve remembered you have a son, who also has a little son-
I guess breeding makes sense
because when there are no more empty spaces left
you never have to look at yourself again.
 
I wanted to ask why, but it’s a wolfish world
and asking why is rude and unwarranted.
So I said I’ll come visit you sometime.
 
I went left and you went right.
The city moaned in smoke, heat and honks
and under my feet the earth shook
because somewhere, somehow a saint had died.  

     

Image – Chris Burden

 

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Verse

Night of February twenty sixth of two thousand sixteen

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Is it terrifying like a new graveyard

– beating pangs across spilt clouds?

Or is it really just a shattered glass

in the sky’s Sahara blue heart?

Only one thing alive to see

beauty being just to be;

pity.

     

image

Image – unknown

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