– Analogous Eulogy –

So that song may be sung again

This is the standard from

which I base my taste.

Our favourite form of

rebellion is self-destruction.

Nature and nurture, the

differences between people.

Then call it something else,

at nineteen, I stopped counting.

I thought of becoming

a doctor at some point.

May we be wrapped around

until the sounds meet the colours.

She was caste in clay, before

being burried.

We seek attention, acknowledgement,

recognition.

Smoke and talk until

we forget about sex.

Roaming the silent lands,

each thought echoes,reverberates

against the silence.

Is the soliloquy.

Sent in stone.

One for this reality.

That by boredom’s sake,

I would be wed to Deathe.

And awaken that sleeping name.

Touch, these lips.

So that song,

may be sung

again.

 

xxix.

Overcast, glorious

the cloud-clad

grace

 

Full-mooned that

Christ-massed

day

 

In all its

sweep and sway

The damselled

drips from

that starstruck

abyss

 

O’ weary day,

on night’s bosom,

head is lain

Now night a stolen

kiss from cheek

not lips

 

And bestow, upon

unknowing forehead,

slow each roaring

thought

 

As all solstice

is draped in dream,

as silence

xxiii.

Come clarity,

I discoer

new emotions

 

Human conditions

at their vivid

limits

 

In seeking insight

these come

unsought

 

Thoughtless and

unthinking

Sinking upwards

Others float

below

vi. Tranquilizer in a Minor key

The actions

without thinking

the speckled

thoughts of remorse

before it sinks in

before it kicks in

And the kinks

unravel

As the holiday

become more

tranquil

As the world

becomes more

banal

The internal

worlds that

capture

may we be

wrapped around

until the

sounds meet

the colours

iii. Nurtural

Nature and

nurture

The differnences

between people

The similarities

between siblings

 

As it may be

in a parent’s

nature not

to nurture

As nurturing’s

as nature is

to a child

 

How naturally it

comes for us, to us

to dream

Evermore natural

not to nurture

those dreams

 

The nature of

waking up in

dreams

So often, that

we fall asleep

to realities

ii. Sirens

All calls to peace

and danger

Friends on the

playground

pointing and

saying

‘They’re coming

for you.’

 

At least half

of them were

ambulances

Though drinking

from my juice-box

I knew and they

never came for

me

 

At 18 going for

a post-evening,

pre-dinner run

with knives taped

together

A predator in a

small town, small

neighbourhood

filled with strangers

and those who

were stranger in

plain sight.

 

 

i. It’s Like My Mother’s Baking

This is the standard from

which I base my taste

for baked goods

I can tell when

it’s not her best

I can tell when she tries

something new

 

It’s my mother’s

artform

I can tell

I can’t tell

When it’s

not my best

When I try

something new

 

My friends

My family

And all others

who have tasted

her art find it

to be really good,

and even ask for her art

personally

 

I knew they

would never

come for me

Take me

away

 

Because the

best form

of rebellion

is self-destruction.