Wednesday, February 9, 2011

there's plenty of coffee there



there's plenty of coffee there
and anxiety
blended-in
with the occasional
sense
of annex
which randomly
condenses
mostly between eleven
and two

but as vapors do
dissipates
in the reliable scalding
of mid-afternoon
when tumult flares
and its hissing swelter
wavers sprite—
temerity
transformed
into sallow
flow
dribbles
as though
forced
to piss
d
o
u
b
t
.


then
there's gloom
draped
in a luxuriant bedroom
invariably
parachutes
between midnight and light
vanishes
just before dawn
when jovial clock
with insipid grin
shudders
and
.c
...h
..i
.m
....e
..s


masquerading
as balance
between
is and was
for when glum spreads
thick
as Tooley does
that is when
recall and flashback
assault
aim
stage
melodrama
which always ends
abruptly
as frustrating as coarsely interrupted
rapture's orgasm
vexing and vague
as 70's era
cinema

but once again
there is plenty of coffee there
and although anxiety
is still blended-in
there is a sense
of pleasure
when the sanguine beating
of a single heart
reverberates
across an awesome

abysm
.
.
.
chasm

when syncopated
with its twin
why stopping
is fucking
impossible.




4 comments:

Wine and Words said...

When glum spreads thick
and assault sets stage
for harsh reality
I swish my curtained skirt
in soft focus
tilt my chin incremental
exaggerated bravado
"Fiddle-dee-dee
Tomorrow is another day."

forgetmenow said...

this is almost unbearably pain and beautiful because of that ...

suspecting that you're going through the mill (as we say in Yorkshire, tho that's not where i am) i wrote a totally non-comparable response that's just meant to be a sort of hug ...

the poem's brilliant, how pain makes it so is always beyond me

S

Noxalio said...

well, Annie, today is that tomorrow you wrote of ... and indeed it's another day, and thank goodness for that!!

Noxalio said...

oh Shell, the mill ... it's nothing new, as you know it churns all the time ...

your piece, as always, Van Gogh, Matisse, Degas rolled into one (with Picasso mixed in for a slight bit of obscurity) ... i especially love the final stanza (well, all of it really) ...

you should write more (you know) but i know how that works ... it writes itself when it want to do so ... and even that much should be enough ...