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(elegy to the lover in me)

If I had the chance love
I would not hesitate
To tell you all things I never said before
Don't tell me it's too late -- Sarah McLachlan (Dirty Little Secret)

and if I shed a tear I won't cage it
I won't fear love
and if I feel a rage I won't deny it
I won't fear love -- Sarah McLachlan (Fumbling Towards Ecstasy)

We die like dust motes --
non-existent in our hopes
visibly invisible, our desperate deficiencies
lazily filtering through a slanted ray
from my room's window crack, hiding confusion
the light escapes into an abandon disquiet
black curtains screaming sarcastic sways
trapping against grave illuminations
slanting light in our wake
burning the candles you bought,
flowing mundane gray
remembering a once, sunny day

your conundrum is a wilting Daisy flower;
lean, cold stalks carrying
spoon-shaped leaves, like Atlas
feeding despair on my kiss-marked shoulder [blades],
prostate petals now jutting out from the rim,
a sudden brink, hanging low (like a rag doll)
of a make-believe vase: feeling beautiful
white, well-polished, immaculate in Zen respect
a new sepulchre for your skeletal thoughts

Alone, my life with you is a karmic vortex:
a heart of a dead, spiraling leaf
unsettling on a damp, uneven earth
there to fold in sober death; a void vacuum
       moldy browns joining in somber rasps
       curse of fragile clasps;
       brown leaves beckoning silence in quick gasps
lasting on forgets,
the earth sighs heavenward on my cuss *
dying for the indifferent us

to lose you (shoo you away like an unwanted dog) --
like a one-day fever --
is my terrible angst and woe,
a thorn in my skin forever

but you are no transient fever
(not even a dog)

those sizzling instances with you:
is a Geometry of seconds-minutes-hours-days-weeks-
moments to moments
become nostalgic veins
encrusted events, throbbing my life
freeflowing my streams in the desert
I am counting no more

it roots from my fickled regrets,
losing my only reason for my smiles
is beyond will and wish
to keep on doing something --
to love you beyond words
(and you know I can't write much)

and Die

things should be left unsaid
I sever myself, buried and alive

and Live

the wind blows -- the undertow of detaching,
mocking all curtained ironies,
a blinding uncertainty, scattering

dust motes settling in my eyes
come comeuppance with cries

Author's note: A buddy, a mate or a soul friend.

Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary. -- Sir Cecil Beaton (1904-1980) English photographer

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The following comments are for "Entombed"
by Idomis

Holy hallelujahs
Um. Sorry. Tired.. speech disconnected.. Words like "amazing" and "slack-jawed with impressed-as-hell stupor" lurching drunkenly through my mind. Wow. Mind-blowing. I lurve it. The imagery is just spectacular.

I'm just going to stop now before I sound too much like a delerious fangirl.

( Posted by: Jei [Member] On: July 19, 2004 )

say, "tee!"
Whoa, I am excited about the t-shirt, Claire! And Jei, thanks for the rave.

A fan club would be nice but I don't know if it's necessary. I am still like everyone else here: "learning through the roads," so to speak.

Have a nice day!

( Posted by: idomis [Member] On: July 22, 2004 )

Hmmmn? Okay, if there'll be a fan's club I want to get my tee.

Friend, you are great and I salute you with this one! And I love Sarah McLachlan as well!

( Posted by: peterpaulino [Member] On: July 22, 2004 )

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