GARGOYLE 1: or THERE IS A LIGHT THAT WILL NEVER GO OUT
It feels remarkable, if it’s true
That the topic has never been broached. Intensely charmed, Lou can’t ignore the seeming folly of these girls, his group of adorers. We all sit about and delight in ourselves and his attention. I, feeling myself in essence married, only think of myself in the most abstract terms
But surely, he says, we are all so intense.
And in our own right we are-- Janine and her jewelry and smacking lip kisses at the end of a meeting, and Kat’s cherub face and free blonde hair with a drink in her underage hand. These kisses suddenly torment the gossiping woman in my secret self
His wife, pretty mouse
What does she think of these girls?
His wife and her large belly in the summer noon, deep shadows of children adorning the courtyard.
And her brown hair tied back low and modestly, she says hello, and nothing else.
I want to say that I’m married too, that I know
But I do not: childless, I am as unaccountable as Lou in his guileless attraction.
I want to yell at Janine and her kisses,
[Men are not like you, they’re weak!]
But perhaps these girls are as weak as him, or more so
and in printable terms, he's innocent as a child
His mop of dirty hair, and liquor breath at the art opening
Go home to your wife, Lou, go home
[when we first met you asked me if I spoke french, caught me praying beneath your ugly Jesus. I said I’m not religious, and then you asked me if I wrote.
The open breath of that place caught me in an eternal stasis, when I’d run from him, from the asthma and tightness of him, you’d open your arms like a father and strange
Strange, like a lover read me back all the things in my shuddering constitution]
And a man with such a beautiful mind deserves the honor of marriage--
His quiet life, his quiet Christy, the honor
Of not making her motherhood a foolish thing.
Deep seated in his mind these girls discuss with frivolous intellect, and sometimes
I cringe, thinking others may see me like this,
His brother perhaps, scrutinizing my softened manner, I hope he sees that I’m an adult and consecrate my own love without hypocrisy. Someday, these girls will be ashamed of the young sylphs they thought they were, running through the blistering green and overcast days
With their arms stretched open like unassuming sirens.
That the topic has never been broached. Intensely charmed, Lou can’t ignore the seeming folly of these girls, his group of adorers. We all sit about and delight in ourselves and his attention. I, feeling myself in essence married, only think of myself in the most abstract terms
But surely, he says, we are all so intense.
And in our own right we are-- Janine and her jewelry and smacking lip kisses at the end of a meeting, and Kat’s cherub face and free blonde hair with a drink in her underage hand. These kisses suddenly torment the gossiping woman in my secret self
His wife, pretty mouse
What does she think of these girls?
His wife and her large belly in the summer noon, deep shadows of children adorning the courtyard.
And her brown hair tied back low and modestly, she says hello, and nothing else.
I want to say that I’m married too, that I know
But I do not: childless, I am as unaccountable as Lou in his guileless attraction.
I want to yell at Janine and her kisses,
[Men are not like you, they’re weak!]
But perhaps these girls are as weak as him, or more so
and in printable terms, he's innocent as a child
His mop of dirty hair, and liquor breath at the art opening
Go home to your wife, Lou, go home
[when we first met you asked me if I spoke french, caught me praying beneath your ugly Jesus. I said I’m not religious, and then you asked me if I wrote.
The open breath of that place caught me in an eternal stasis, when I’d run from him, from the asthma and tightness of him, you’d open your arms like a father and strange
Strange, like a lover read me back all the things in my shuddering constitution]
And a man with such a beautiful mind deserves the honor of marriage--
His quiet life, his quiet Christy, the honor
Of not making her motherhood a foolish thing.
Deep seated in his mind these girls discuss with frivolous intellect, and sometimes
I cringe, thinking others may see me like this,
His brother perhaps, scrutinizing my softened manner, I hope he sees that I’m an adult and consecrate my own love without hypocrisy. Someday, these girls will be ashamed of the young sylphs they thought they were, running through the blistering green and overcast days
With their arms stretched open like unassuming sirens.
posted by emit's calendar at 7:29 AM
1 Comments:
WOW this is an absolutely remarkable peice of work.I am so impressed. It makes me want to work harder.
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