La Douleur Exquise

Dew breached the hearth

and settled on placated embers –

It did not evaporate –

We lay in the vault and observed

the vacant walls turn from unfilled

to a visual transcript of nothing.

Draped in conciliatory memories.

The cats head butts your hand,

expecting warmth where only lethargic

dead eyed crumbling nonsense endured.

How did our days become so hollow?

We spoke of shock treatment.

Wondered if those volts would reawaken

the one, two, three, of something

felt in every place we placed each foot,

one in front of another. Discovered

each other in lands as sand-swept

and fanatical as the thrashing of our thoughts.

Rock salt in an open wound.

Does it burn?

I express the truth and you blank the remedies.

Does love between the soul we share

really adapt to insert another? You say

“the trigger doesn’t want to budge,”

but the bullet flies as swift as larks

and impales my heart like a snare

flung from the arms of a little drummer boy,

as shrapnel tears his eyes and mind

to blistered recognition of lies-

Pa rum pum pum pum –

Sleep seems such a distant meander.

Somewhere between the sketch of life

and those belongings that once seemed important.

I think

we placed them next to the impossible

when we agreed that once sharing forever

would last more than a season.

And now I think the course to take is alcoholism.

To drift through the reeling stern

of lineal precognition – your absence- absolution.

The handicap blank stare of universal

emptiness and flare. Day dreamer,

they call me with snakes forked tongues.

In the distance rises that song-

Vivere commune est, sed non commune mereri-

Distant dreamer, I have only you in my wound.

The constant companion,

the empty endless mood.

Once the stars begged to be in your light,

now engulfed by absent optic dusk –

La douleur exquise –

I am the ghost in your eyes.

  

 

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