AnnaA Poem by Marrisurreal, uut, authomaticAnna
You keep asking me why I always mistrust men. I don’t know. I hear the sea at all times.
Her scream runs in a vein of air between Mountains; It is how I know Anna makes love To you: on her knees, blind. The ground turns to sky, wooden and endless and Black… it’s not the type of love I could ever offer, it’s too toothless for me and sounds nothing like Jarmusch. I can eat an orange in front of you And let it squirt on your shirt in the mid of August, in a small Greek street while we both sit on the ground and measure the summer by the cars passing vibrating in flutters on my dress with cherries. I can call this happiness but my mouth is full. The asphalt burns scruples and the fallen scoop of ice cream. Your wife, Anna, sleeps with open eyes, somewhere else, next to you,under sycamore trees, Janus-faced, like a pendulum pinching your slumber. It is my blood that streams thin but I am re-winding time: we are nothing but cats, one-eyed, hiding under cars, we are so black I can burst our skins and let them shrivel in the hands of unborn children. What remains are our sticky insides, figs, or Anna’s tears, or is it car oil, never a safe haven: the hot machinery. We choke on red balloons and loneliness.
Anna counts on abacus your gazes in the other direction. She could never give you that kind of epicurean drama or make you feel like a mountain; she shrieks yes, dried out, never like jungle and never like summer at two; her echoes are water colours, and I, I am exploding in her.
Thirty-five. Just in the last year.
Yet, who is to howl but mercy? I bring her slowly to different graveyards, Holding her hand.
Fool, Anna, what a fool, to wear my mosquito net for a wedding dress; it is a goddamn winter, bless you.
She blows up balloons for your son's third birthday.
You give me your ice cream. We walk back, barefoot, in circles.
© 2014 Marri
© 2014 Marri |
Stats
169 Views
1 Review Added on January 4, 2014 Last Updated on January 4, 2014 AuthorMarriBremen, GermanyAbouthttp://www.marrri-nikolova.tumblr.com/ 'If I knew myself, I'd run away...' I pick a word, phrase, sentence, sometimes even a whole chunk of text from what I wrote yesterday, the day be.. more..Writing
|