In the drunken sleep of Sundays
My Father showed me Ben-Hur,
Long Western quick or dead
Epics, the determination
Of horses grinding wheels,
The death of actors
So many died to make this movie
He said. He would say-
Well there's no point in talking
Or bringing those things up now.
And childhood was a bore,
The wind up blow up
Wide-eyed, idol lies;
There was no need for a pedestal,
No need to moralise
No need,
There was really no need.
But I kept thinking of their bodies,
Trampled under hoof,
And under wheel,
Under the system of a studio
I laughed like a hyenna,
Nervous at first
Then harder and harder,
For there's nothing to get the blood pumping
Like watching a Sunday matinee with your Father.
That's over now.
I went out into the bushes,
I drank countless bottles of wine
While I was waiting on you, my dear heart.
You can imagine that the wild
Is something we can cultivate,
Its like sending those horses round
And round on a cardboard set,
One can paint and script and write and
Weaponise the aesthetics of blood.
This is what I thought for you, my heart
While I could have considered a burning bush,
I've let my head slide
I feel the trees lifting me,
Up to look at the red sunrise.
In the clouds,
Like the chemicals left at the bottom
Of a bottle of beer, the bitter dregs,
In suds a little fly is floating on top of-
You can imagine in a bit of a heat haze-
That this is where I saw your eyes...
What is tremendous here is the honesty. And it's sad. And it's real. And it hurts. It is laced with disappointment. Yet, it holds too, like a grasping at straws for a moment. Any moment. Even if it's losing oneself in the ridiculous bullshit of a moment. Ah, to be tortured. And these are the things we remember. Ya know?
what is heaviest? the state of drunkeness or the blur of it. perhaps the one consistant thing to rely on. and how recognizing that fact alone, makes one learn how both loving and being loved is hard. yet, it becomes the one true absolute - life is a love lesson.
when i read the later part, it feels of utter grief to me. maybe i am wrong, but it is heart wrenching. angry even. strangely, it makes me think of how when we are children, our parents are god. they are everything. even if they are goodbadanduglyorindifferent. then you have this realization, they are fallabile humans being.
The thing is, I truly believe we are our dna. I am myself (of course), but I am my parents and I am my parent's parents and their parent's parents. I wrote something along the lines once: I am my mother. and my mother's mother. and my mother's mother's mother. until we weren't. at all.
1. I think the posting of readings/performances is ballsy and I applaud that. I would to do that on youtube lol but then I think I'd get teased@work. Seeing you do it, i think it's the shit.
2. I was / and remain pretty excited to discover this poem. Seems very clever and lyrical how you've put it together. Put it together - as in important work. Happy to see your name attached to it.
Submission Name: Pyre Romancer
