Le sigh. What to say about this poem? Well, first of all, it will be painfully obvious upon reading it that I was going through a (somewhat pretentious?) stream of consciousness phase. The poems produced during this phase of my evolution as a writer are among the most loved and hated that i've written. I happen to love this one but, then again, I'm biased. If you don't follow every bit of it, don't worry - there are many allusions in it, among other poetic devices. And, as usual, it's about a past (and tortured) relationship, one I've even posted poems about before, though I won't say which ones. Check out the soundcloud audio track of the poem below.
Is It So Wrong?
So what if I want to throw it all up?
What’s wrong with the wanting –
wanting to get rid of all this perversity and of course, you.
And yes, there are times when I relish the moments that you cling to me –
hands running through hair, stroking arms, exploring every inch of skin without ever
nearing the erogenous zones.
And so what if sometimes I’m in love with the moment?
But what’s so wrong with wanting to get rid of that and you,
when I can’t trust a single moment spent with you and you spill forth from your mouth so
and I can’t begin to know up from down, right from left, the real from the “plastic
the “state of affairs where the fake is more real than the real.”
I run from that. You, you embody that, you Warhol,
you man so searching and lost and grabbing the bits and pieces.
Do you just collect us in your memory palace, so many relics
that can so easily be eradicated or replaced and I see you
draw back the animal’s-hair bow, let the arrow fly, but not to pierce
heart or mind or even soul but simply so we cease to exist.
Am I wrong when, at times, I long to run from this but I am the deer caught in headlights, frozen up, eyes wide, fixated, formulated.
(And you, so not an answer).
Wait for me, so you can draw back the bow, release the arrow –
poking, prodding, piercing, but never pouring across the line to where
there are no lines and so much spills forth
as we emerge from empty cocoons
and shoot each other.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
Is It So Wrong? by KakeDastardly