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here is a new poem that i wrote, after hearing "How Could It Take So Long" by Jesse Harris.
"dead girl"
there is the safety of a cliche.
there is the safety of a raincoat
when the rain is falling
and the blanket of words are uninviting,
and the strangers' faces appear to be smiling,
as if practiced in a thousand mirrors.
there is the impression that refuses to leave
of a dead girl and her unwritten sieve,
but she is not me,
no,
she is not me,
and so, perhaps nothing's disappeared.
there are the real, there is the guile,
where is the truth, why all the smiles?
every once in a while, it seems to me,
the finest thing in life is a lonely pleasantry.
just a comfortable strangeness, with no place to be,
no explanations, no need to agree.
a theatre, a matinee.
alone, and quiet, for the play.
the mice are not bloated with rice.
the bread is not syphoning gas.
the vice is in forgetfulness,
until the danger has passed.
i just want some time to heal from this mess.
the dead girl shattered under life's compress.
makeup on the counters with the hurricane dress.
crime in this life, but to god you confess.
and god only knows that god knows best
when the dead girl smoke signals dust, with the rest..
(c) 3 October 2007 Ariell Hartwell
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