Plasticine Parade

I measure my scotch in terms of those
meaningless songs, late night when the eyes get up
from floorboards

and I am alone,
there is nothing left
but the bottle,
there is nothing left
in the bottle,

but still you came, your throat rusty
with music and smoke,
telling me that
we are rabid under the mud,
filthy and tired of existing

sick of everything
yet in that dark, we found light:
we tasted wanting tongues against the spirits
we found light

and it tasted bitter
from the luminosity that surrounds you

because I wanted that bright
as my own;
because I wanted that
as my own;

so it goes,
when you go
I tell my friends, grief
will always drink with you
but it is
a jealous companion



Poetry by Charlie fan
Read 763 times
Written on 2008-10-05 at 01:50

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Devastatingly beautiful work Charlie! Erotic, sensual, human and so true of grief....I have been trying to shake the hood off for years now....it is slow progress and love would seal the deal, but we manage as we have to. I know the feeling of late at night, the emptiness, but song fill my darkness until I close my eyes in exhaustion....it is a habit of mine, try it, it may help you to sleep. Smiling at you, Tai
2008-10-09


Rob Graber
I like this dark poem. Grief as a jealous companion--a great mataphor!
2008-10-05