Mythic Fragility Deconstructed~

We are going to take this doll

and remove her from beneath the delicate glass

peel the kimono gently from her fragile shoulders

in the pool of sunlight

 

she shivers in my palm

curls around her hollow abdomen

cradles her porcelain face in her hands

a white sugar cube

reflected in my splash of ink pupils

 

We are going to coax this doll

with the tip of a finger

to unfurl her like the petals of a snapdragon

unbind her hair

and permit its languid woven silk

to drape her shoulders

 

she covers her eyes

a delicate framework of history rolled onto her back

a skin parchment of mythic fragility

etched in each press of bone

against her rice paper skin

shivering

exposed

 

We are going to take this doll

and ever softly open her palms

to expose a heart shaped face of alabaster

her emerald eyes doorways into moments

primal

and alive

 

she gazes back at the viewer

with a deconstructed glaze

begins very slowly to remove pieces of her wall

brick by brick

for a vase full of sunshine

and latte with cream clouds in the morning

 

We are going to take this doll

and press her swollen mouth with kisses in the shape of love

push her barriers aside with strong hands kneading the small of her back

a press of whispers shivering against the tiny lobe of her ear

and when she is fully open like a lotus

her arch framed in trust

when her arms relearn to unbend from her naked breasts

and reach into the fluid world

after many years under glass

we are going to curl lips back off strong white teeth

and strike deep between the myth and the fragility

in that delicate space between the throat and the heart

we will bleed her

in the pool of sunlight

unintentionally of course

because we are after all primal and constructed

and just going with the flow

 

she is so tiny in my palm

a collection of bones and honey

she gazes back at me with emerald satellites in her skull

her hand around a single brick

 

We are going to take this doll

and dismember  her with odd little brands of love

and swallow the myths out of her veins

but this time there isn't enough to put back under glass

so we will build her walls of alloys

with an open roof

for our eyes

because witness to her pain is so delicious

 

she is a milk seed

curled under a glass dome

a mythic fragility

deconstructed 

 

 

 

copyright:2010vssmd/pa.inc

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

 

 

excerpt from . . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

remembrance of things past...but the difference, and wonderful thing, about this larger play house, is that the flesh scarred by clumsy hands that seek release in release, is only a covering; and though the wounds may run instinct deep, and we may limp into the yielding tomorrows, that deep doll-child who learned to believe in that cornucopia of lies, can also learn to smile, and laugh, and walk in the bright sun shine...

[Elephant Noses]

I am very intrigued by how at the start, we cannot tell if the person holing this little doll child so gently is friend or foe, and by the end we realize it's a cruel person, but then we look back and we see perhaps it's both...
For a piece of work surrounding such difficult subjects as abuse and destruction of humans, misuse of trust, it's remarkably honest without being cruel or ugly.

[raining]

awesome. just beautiful. so good, better than just good. I will have to read and then come back and read this again. There is nothing to critisize about this.
This as a poem is something I will shoot for, what strength.

[~D.A. Phoenix~]

This is soooo darkly gorgeous. I'm a little speechless. I usually don'y review poetry but I had to expess my immense pleasure at the piece. Fantastic work

[Bard Constantine]

Crawls across the mind like intruding whispers and probing fingers... the disassembly of a human being is never a good thing because the pieces will never fit the same when put back together, and others will be lost forever... this truly speaks of the way life takes what could be perfect and crushes it beyond recognition without a backward glance, for as noted: just going with the flow... excellent statement on the effects of social deconstruction and the way we eat our young...

[Amy Bumpas]

DAMN! This is sensual, darkly twisted, with a hint of insanity..
and let me have a cigarette along with that...I was going to
say Jack Daniels, but I don't drink him LOL!!

Ireally liked these lines:We are going to take this doll
and press her swollen mouth with kisses in the shape of love
push her barriers aside with strong hands kneading the small of her back
a press of whispers shivering against the tiny lobe of her ear
and when she is fully open like a lotus
her arch framed in trust
when her arms relearn to unbend from her naked breasts
and reach into the fluid world
after many years under glass
we are going to curl lips back off strong white teeth
and strike deep between the myth and the fragility
in that delicate space between the throat and the heart
we will bleed her
in the pool of sunlight
unintentionally of course
because we are after all primal and constructed
and just going with the flow
You had us in the throes of passion, then kill
us with one strike.

I could actually see the scene before me..great job here!

[Closedown]

I love this, I don't know what else to say. I'm in awe.

[Brad]

raspberry girl, deconstructed...again, she's getting a huge hug from me

[...]

. i agree entirely with ed ... and i know so experientially too ... the core doesn't get demolished despite drastic and debilitating experiences ... the pain in these words is almost palpable ...

[Jordan]

Such a process to deconstruct her, Wow is all I can seem to think of. I know wow is so over used these days but this poem has me speechless. I don't know is deconstruction good? Is it freeing for the doll? or is it fun for the one deconstructing her? Personally I want to be the one deconstructing and viewing her many states of being.

[Jibey]

I was stirred by the process of the doll's peeling... the words working on so many levels, echoes of the past, and a total submission in the present..It spoke to me of a woman whose soul had died and could be revived by tenderness and hands that gave assured attention, eyes that shone love and care... that gave milk and generated seed... of pain and pleasure, a catharsis of body and soul