i have a mermaid painting and an angel drawing up on my wall. both signify
that archetype of female elusiveness. i have a guitar with five strings
and a coconut shell drum with a cigarette burn in it. both show
i don't care enough for material things.
today, i learnt of the existence of limbo. i thought perhaps
it was another word for fragile and tenuous.
last night, i slept because i didn't want to wake up.
it all becomes strings and holes and inconsequential sequences.
it becomes a gift returned, effusive whisperings
chained back inside.
tonight, i'll know the meaning of a decrescendo. of lilac
transformed to senna and umber. tonight, i'll lose myself
in words, and dream of harps silencing me
yesterday, i drove up a hill to read the daily paper. i drank
spirulina fruit juice and looked out over the waitemata harbour.
i thought many things: of mermaids and angels
i could never hope to tame.
three years of oblivion is a tempting grave to return to. three years
of wondering why this earth spins seems a mirror i'll look into.
four more years before i'm thirty, with no house or kids,
or the false assumptions i made at fifteen, thinking
this world was mine, that the motions
of artistic enterprise
could ever make a difference.
tonight, i read and write
because it's the only thing left to me right now.