Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Verse: Accounting

What was it
I wanted
Before I was
Overcome with
This insatiable

How often
Was I spotted at
The Saturday
Market buying
small packets
Of Sui Muy

Was I inclined
To part my hair
On the left
Or the right

Were my hands
So rough
My mouth
So jagged
And my eyes
So dark
And round
As this

Was I inclined
At any time
To celebrate
Birthdays and
Could I sing
With the force
And clarity
Of one thousand
Rancorous angels

Was I more likely
To embrace the
Tender quietude
Of night
Or hole up
In some cinema
Imagining myself
A refugee of love

When I wrote
Was I apt
To write less
With more care
Or did I blaspheme
With wild imaginings
Each chaste page

Was I bold
Had I knowledge
Of remorse
Of fresh peaches
Of dust

Did I console
Old dreams
Or strangle them
As they slept
Pulling them up
From their
Sprawling roots

Tell me
What was it
I wanted
Before this
Longing overwhelmed
Me with wanting
and who was I
Before I was
Your confessor
Your countenance
Your conscience

1 comment: