Self Portrait of a Poet in Midlife

“To turn out a true portrait, I had to discover the story that must be painted. Only then could I get the ball rolling.”
Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami
 
..
 
Slide, I
Across the
Surface
Circumference,
Around, the turbulent
Umbra, of your
Magnificent
Mind, cradled
In tremulous
Palms of private
Obfuscation, the locked
Impregnable
Vault, of your
Secrets
 
The low
Rumble
Of a storm
System,
Your heart,
Gathered, upon a
Central
Rotating
Vortex
 
Sense, I
You
And you,
I,
In this,
Secluded
Corner
 
My
Presence,
Your
Awareness,
Momentarily
Entwined
 
..
 
(4:04 a.m.)
 
There are rooms we are within,
And rooms that are
Within, and in the small
Hours, according to
The alignment of certain
Auspices, a corridor will,
Occasionally,
Unite, these two,
Distinct
Dimensions,
Blurring that
Distinction
 
..
 
“I am smooth stone, through
And through,” lied
The smiling blade
 
He was ugly, this crafty
Kid
And cold,
As dispassionate
Cowardice,
A ritual
Enclosure,
Full of studious
Worms,
Efficacious, in their
Entombed
Excavations
Of Salisbury Plain
And full
Of strategic
Solitude,
Strangling
Reciprocity,
With vaunted reason
And full of rot
 
..
 
Systolic: 106
Diastolic: 60
Beats Per Minute: 50
 
It’s been steady on, like this
Bout a week,
Heart
Pistons
Quietly,
Without doubt,
Without
Complaint
 
Barely a
Flutter
Of its
Weaponized
Wings,
Against the
Cool
High
Walls
Of the eyrie
 
..
 
Shadows drew their long, exhausted
Lashes
Down the window
Panes,
Predawn chill held
Its mouth
Against the
Glass,
Breathing
 
A quiet pool settled,
By increments,
Across the
Milieu,
As we sat, in
Opposed
Regard
 
Without quality of
Admiration
 
..
 
The conundrum of these
Vital statistics, being
Possible diagnoses and prognoses:
Drop due to internal infection,
Pulmonary malfunction, or weight loss
And regular
Exercise and whether
This warrants a
Corresponding
Addition,
Reduction or
Cessation of
Maintenance
Meds,
Altogether
 
To be determined
 
Feeling alright,
Otherwise,
Strong,
Clear,
Tip-top
 
The conundrum here, then
Is Being
 
..
 
“I’ve claimed your,
‘Persephone,’
How you,
Perceived
Her,
Skin
Spectral
White,
Holding
Opalescent
Mirrors,
Reflecting
Muted
Wails
And her
Murdered
Sister’s
Desire, for
Reunion,
In death
 
Eyes
Envenomed
With
Ramparts,
Protecting
Prodigious
Depths
Of emotion
 
I enervate her
Warmth,
I fill her with
Void”
 
The kid’s truth was a
Scalpel,
A heartless,
Serrated
Instrument
Honed to myopic,
Single
Minded,
Precision
 
His method:
A legion of
Psychologically
Crafted and
Distinct
Gaslight
Visages,
Launched
Unceremoniously,
A black hued
Ghost
Armada,
Bleakly crushing
Waves,
Hollow
Hulled,
Without substance
 
Hm,
Alright
 
A tongue of flame
Twisted
In reply,
Arisen from the
Deep
Wells of
Mimir,
The Rememberer,
Of all
Light
 
Irrepressible
 
“We are a mottled
Mosaic
Of light,
Strewn amidst
Islands of
Shadow,
Tattooed
Across the
Atlas of a
Moment,
Struggling to
Speak
Mist
And air,
Solid,
Definite
And
Distinctly
Shaded,
As laughter,” the all
Light, said
Through a single,
Unthreaded
Eyelet
 
The enemies ceased their
Exchanges, and
Listened, in the gathering
Swell, where
Muscled
And sinuous
Tails
Met
In seamless
Joint
 
And thus,
The day began
 
..
 
(8:08 a.m.)
 
Fumbled a bit with the
Lock
Slick with
Smeared beads of
Condensation
 
Early morning sun raised an
Eager and robust
Flare across the
Outdoor
Ancillary, and its
Contents
 
Inventory:
Washer/dryer,
Tools, gas,
Bins
Of books,
Lawnmower,
Luggage
 
David’s phantom appeared for
A moment, at the
Center, appraising my
Construction, where he now
Resides,
In my memories
 
Step inside,
Don my work gloves,
Shadow drapes a cool
Arm, across
My shoulders
 
He laughed,
Often,
Some few times,
Wept,
Stood
Sentinel,
As I
Slept,
In the warm grip
Of febrifuge
And again,
On the morning
After
His death
 
My
Awareness,
His
Presence,
Momentarily
Entwined
 
Set myself to cleaning and organizing
 
A chill wind shifted
From foot
To foot,
Anxiously
Tousling the
Autumn leaves
Into sighs and
Conspiratorial
Murmurs of a prescient
Winter approach, already
Curled into a posture
Of slumber
 
Disturbed a hornets
Nest, whose truculent
Occupants, did
Sally forth
In a flurry,
Pell-mell,
Helter-skelter
 
Got an ankle sting
For my trouble,
No good deed, etc.
 
Amended inventory:
Washer/dryer,
Tools, gas,
Bins
Of books,
Lawnmower,
Luggage,
Demolished
Hornet’s nest,
Occupants - dead
(Cause and effect)
 
Distant vehicles slur their
Contiguous
Din, individual
Susurrations,
Distinct,
By the velocity of air
Displacement
And their relative
Body size
 
Late morning sun draws
Back his bright
Bow, arrow held
At a steadily
Rising
Angle of
Incline
 
Silence
Encircled us,
Breathing the diaphoretic
Ash
Of labor,
Of dispersed
Empires
And
Blissfully
Forgotten
Ages
 
Stinger begins its slow ascent
 
Wind walks across
A grave,
Palpable as a premonition
 
..
 
(12:21 p.m.)
 
Arrive at the job fair
A bit late, possibly
Fashionable,
Wings folded
Back, wending
Through the teeming
Throng, in an obvious
Discord of slow
Strides
 
I finger of
Smoke
Through the industrious
Buzz
Of the apiary
 
Shake hands,
Read
The lay of
The land,
Take my sweet
Time
 
..
 
I am
The fire element
 
Irrepressible
 
I consume,
Reave,
Denude,
Transform
 
Tongue dance,
Undulating
Limbs
Caught in the
Teeth
Of low
Wind
 
I river
Of all light
 
..
 
(12:21 a.m.)
 
Silence rises,
Overflows
The levies,
As evening
Waxes
And wanes,
It’s pitiless
Cycles,
Reminiscent
Of love,
Abandon
And boredom
 
Wordless recollection,
Folded
Into a petalless
Stem,
Palpates its
Smooth
Palms
Across the
Surface
Circumference,
Around, the turbulent
Umbra, of my
Magnificent
Mind
 
Age
Imparts
Its lessons
 
Leaves detach and
Saw
Earthward,
Arboreal
Fingers
Crawl
Skyward,
Creatures
Of the evening,
Drawl
Autumnal
Musics,
By legion
 
Indecipherable meaning
Lie within,
Gazing back,
Interpretation arose,
Interwoven,
With memory,
Becoming
Something new
 
Self portrait
Of a poet
In midlife
 
Time
Gathered
By grain,
Pebble,
And stone
 
A bier
Raised,
Between
My brows,
By increments
 
Rain descends
 
Insects and
Night birds
Fall still,
As always
 
Time
Had decided
To linger,
Share a warm drink
And reminiscence
 
Time
Had become
A friend
 
In the deep
Wells
Of subdued
Dark,
Mimir
Stirred
And spoke
 
A twisting tongue
Of flame
Arose,
Between us
 
Irrepressible
 
In silken fine
Sheets,
Rain nimbly
Fell,
In variable
Permutations,
Ad infinitum
 
Bare breasted
Moonlight paints frescoes
Across a moment
 
Solid,
Definite
And
Distinctly
Shaded,
As laughter
 
..
 
Self Portrait of a Poet in Midlife
By
Daniel Christensen
 
..
 
“They absorbed knowledge quickly. This time, the instructor was impressed. Of course, some of them were better than others, but that didn’t matter. What I was teaching them was less how to draw than a way to view the world.” Ibid