deepundergroundpoetry.com
SAINT J
Will you kiss me on my head wound?
Run your tongue down the crease
That proves I once bled into my pillow
with little ideas escaping me.
I am ageing faster than my dreams,
the scar on my lifeline a gypsy’s curse
that leaves doubts that were once wishes.
Let me tell you stories, lyrical lies
scratched on old tables I chose to sleep on.
When I close my eyes there is space,
something beautiful meaning nothing,
my imagination’s desolate last chapter,
the loose ends spread on the floor
where the children once played undertaker.
You didn’t know me when I cried,
bulbous rents in my history
leaving moisture in tiny places,
awkward positions I am still to apologise for.
I have never held your baby hand,
but its sister is strong enough
to know how weak my muscles can be
in your dim room with the small cobweb.
Yours are the first honest kisses
deep enough to soothe the child
clawing at its own scar tissue,
just another past life lullaby
played on the monster’s yellowing bones.
I don’t have a name for the moon,
even after all these years of watching him,
my pen positioned to capture something
I am still waiting to see.
I know how cold it can get
in the early years spent searching
empty rooms with tears in the windows,
dressed in old clothes handed down
by generations of indifferent forefathers
hiding in their own mysteries.
You light thin white candles
above muttered prayers.
If you can’t save me with thought
I’ll settle for soft fingers against my spine,
curled eyelashes tattooing my shoulder,
Celtic breath warming the night.
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Published 16th Jan 2010
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17th Jan 2010 5:03am
to have my attention caught & kept on this site but you managed to do just that. With the fourth & last stanza especially I found myself holding my breath, totally enthralled with your imagery & words. Looking forward to seeing more from you!
