deeptokyo's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- umbra I met someone like you.That summer we were apart. I had been facing the river,And smelled her coming from afar. She was as dark as the pavement she staggered upon,And sipped a brown paper bag as if it were hot tea. I was reading the sun’s poetry aloud,To myself and to the moon, who was full. But I felt empty,And I let her slightly open shirt sit next to me… Shadows always come with the sun… They cast themselves,And certain spells that make me forget,To open my eyes,And realize that they walk beneath me. I didn’t stop reading the poetry. I had hoped it would scare her away if she had nothing to teach me…I love black too much to shun it And am, in turn, an accidental necrophiliac. My mistake is my belief in resurrection… Still, she had wanted to listen,And I always think I have something to say…She had made me feel as comfortable as you do;Full of harm, but only to herself. I became the original being again: Naming and overseeing, Another wild dog,Gone tame at the sound of my lone voice. Her eyes were the color of brandy:Telling and tired,As she gazed into mine: Wide and straining in the night air Her slur gave her an accent like yours,But she spoke of spiritual searching;Of ohmic resistance to the electronegative tendencies of this society…Her potential turned me on- My dilemma ‘til the grave… We sat on that bench for an hour.She would’ve gotten my number, had I been drunk, as well…Or if reality had not bitten me when,Like you, she refused to reveal her older age. I shook her hand…ignored the vibes…And said goodbye,Certain that I would see her again…She forsook, so she thought, as sadly as she had approached… Seventy steps later, I heard a howling And started to bleed. 12:06 p.m. - 2002-09-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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