Stare at a sunset.
Wait for light to fill your eyes;
Flow over your lids.
Drink a volcano.
Tip the damn thing back and draw
a mouthful of self.
Hold your breath, dear one.
The surface is miles above;
The floor waits below.
Drink hemlock, eat lead.
Trip gaily from high cliffsides.
You’ll be eternal.
See, the first stanza draws you in, makes you think that it's gonna be about the beauty of life or enjoying each moment--but the rest? Tips that idea on its head. It's so so angry, if nearly-whimsical wordplay can be angry.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry. I wish there was more I could do beyond prayers and paltry attempts at commentry.
I wrote it with a totally different view in mind, actually. It's like: try as you might to destroy yourself in (my) someone's memory, (I) that person will always remember you.
ReplyDeleteI like the use of trip in the last stanza, but it does take away from "tip" in the second.
Janelle, did you count the syllables?
Ayuh
DeleteYou're so stoic.
DeleteOh, the view you had in mind is much more hopeful! I'm glad. I much prefer the hopeful view on it.
ReplyDeleteIn a way it makes me think of Shelley and how it's like you're discussing the opposite of mutability.