By Jenae Marks
I should just die now” she whispers, reckless, suddenly suspecting that tomorrow
will be a lot like yesterday, and the day before, and nothing like tonight.
nothing in the world I want except this”. Sitting across his lap, she lifts
herself up, then lets herself fall, and then again, “Nothing, nothing, nothing...”.
1999, The Capri Motel)
2000, Prince St. Court)
in these flowers
want nothing but to drown in
need running water,
fracture golden light,
carry my eyes along,
the wraith-like spiders
live on the water.
is often too quiet and too still.
I cannot be quiet or still
this bench, the sun on my knees,
of this scrub between my fingers.
I was quiet and still
we were wed again and again
the edge of
blue-green sea .
deep, blindly strolling backwards,
skirt above the ocean,
only vision a swirling sea,
that never break,
a lake, like a stream.
garden of those flowers
never grow again,
seemed to be
in his eyes.
poison poured in my ear,
made me drunk then,
left me now
this mind, like a field
world is still green,
the eye that fails.
never have such sight again.
So why not die now,
with bare skin,
why let tomorrow come,
oppose me with a
a mirror would be overthrown,
very glass, the eye…
by a lonely mother,
to incestuous needs,
pour potions in my ear.
found me dead in the closet,
deer park melting in the dark.
I was seven, dreaming:
dead self curled up
song was playing.
would be happy tangled up in green flowering vines;
too much would be enough for me,
flowers that bloom like screams,
and leaves as vast and churning as a sea.
kiss, would lick, the
of my feet, I would be home.
tired—of a stale exile.
avalanche of African daisies, saffron-red,
in thy orisons, be all my sins remembered.”
friend once told me that death is the ultimate sin.
The first short-coming.
nymph is Ophelia.
see her brooding with a skull, talking too much.
see him wreathed in flowers.
flowers bloomed in your hair,
time we kissed.
Heartbreak and funeral pains are not despair.
When my father died, it was not despair. (I was elated, exhausted, delirious. I had never been so close to him.)
is the septic blood of unattended heartbreaks, forgotten and festering.
The pestilence of the unburied dead.
of us, when we flee Troy, can't find our loved ones. Or can't bare to carry them
on our backs.)
Despair is a wounded animal hiding from further
A kennel made of
is trying to live and failing to live.
arms without hands, a mouth with
on broken legs.
have crawled, through dead-end
streets, on my hands and knees.”
along for ten years
shaman to set the bones, induce the
epilepsies, and cushion the blows;
no women to drown you in the wails of mourning.
who grieve cannot wail. We should
white bed in a white room with white billowing curtains, where
can not stand still but can be made to move more slowly.
you find me lying by the side of the road, dirty and bleeding,
you clean me up and try
to prepare me for transfusion. By trial and error
are not the you I kissed, you are the other you, I kissed before.)
go ahead and kill that reprieve, with an
The doing’s all, they say: there
be other worlds
June, 2004, Pennyroyal Ranch, Yokio CA
aymor; “…the flowers scream ‘red’ in frightened voices”, Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke.