update from sparkleup
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%title Mental health
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%title Mental health
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!{In *Eigengrau*}
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'''
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There is too much fire in me
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to be described by the soldering iron's tip.
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If I were to draw that across my flesh,
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it would all spill out at once.
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I'd melt, eaten whole by flames,
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and flow into a pool of molten silver.
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I would be borne up through the clouds,
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and grow lighter by the second.
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Sublimation would claim me then,
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atoms would scatter, diffuse.
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All that energy poured to the air around me,
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an imperceptible increase in temperature.
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Particle would excite particle
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until I'm felt only as warmth on your face.
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But even that would not be enough.
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'''
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-----
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!{In *Eigengrau*}
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'''
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Too many wine-dark seas need daily traversal,
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And here the shipping forecast calls for rain.
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The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks.
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You can listen from start to finish
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And not hear a single word about how a day will feel.
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Or maybe it's a pale, tired, steganography:
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Moderate, becoming poor, violent storm 11.
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Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage
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is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
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I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying,
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And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
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'''
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*Thanks to P.R.*
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-----
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!{In *Eigengrau*}
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<style>
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.row {
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display: block;
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vertical-align: top;
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}
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.col-md-4 {
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width: 30%;
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display: inline-block;
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vertical-align: top;
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padding: 0.5rem;
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}
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.text-right {
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text-align: right;
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}
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.col-md-8 {
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width: 60%;
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display: inline-block;
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vertical-align: top;
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padding: 0.5rem;
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}
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@media only screen and (max-width: 500px) {
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.col-md-4, .col-md-8 {
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width: 100%;
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display: block;
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}
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}
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</style>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>I</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Unnerving</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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Anxiety</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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A hundred geese overhead —
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A thousand —
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A million —
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Heady scent of premonition.
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Acrid tang of ill omens.
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Portents.
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Too much meaning
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In too small a space.
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>II</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Noise-Cancelling Headphones</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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auditory aberrations</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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Geese are a byproduct of laminar shear stress
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Of two layers of phantasmagorical
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Newtonian fluids,
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Which is why they’re often seen on a plane.
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A thin, sort-of Truth
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From a sort of thin layer
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geese chromatography.
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>III</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Eldrich</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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red tint to vision; hot flashes</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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As the dove bears the olive branch,
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so too the goose bears the wand
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that withers all it touches.
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A wand of nightshade,
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Core of tainted silver.
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A wand of obscure origin,
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The goose surely stole it.
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Malice begets malice.
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>IV</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Beyond Comprehension</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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confusion; nausea; sweating; racing pulse</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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We know not the transgression,
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the origin -
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We know not the punishment,
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only the terror.
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>V</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Excruciating</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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pounding heart; tunnel vision; racing thoughts; black outs;
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blood pouring from ears</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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Geas
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Wing
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Dark
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Horizon
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>VI</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Terrifying</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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tinnitus; piloerection; shortness of breath; uneven gait</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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I’d rather owls.
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Owls, as though geese were turned inside out,
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made less evil.
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Still portentous,
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Still momentous,
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Just less terrifying.
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Owls are okay.
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I can think about owls.
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>VII</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Uncomfortable</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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subdermal itching; formication</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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Life within a comfortable grid.
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Parallel lines
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Interrupting narrowing circles
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Of birds in flight.
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Travel in straight lines.
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Turn at right angles.
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Trace the roof of your mouth
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With wet tongue.
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I’m not afraid of geese anymore
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Because I can step on them now.
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I’m big enough.
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="row">
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<div class="col-md-4 text-right">
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<h3>VIII</h3>
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<p><em>Geese Level:</em><br />
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Birds</p>
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<p><em>Expect:</em><br />
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birds</p>
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</div>
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<div class="col-md-8 verse">
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Ritual thinking
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Driven by geese —
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By lines, by grids, by food —
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By numbers and neat delineation.
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And I’m left with questions:
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Why the portents?
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Why the anxiety?
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Or maybe:
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Did I take my meds this morning?
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Failing that,
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Can I just have the comfort of prayer
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Or the ecstasy of signs
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Without bleak paranoia
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Over circling birds?
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</div>
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</div>
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*Thanks to C.M.*
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-----
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!{First-place winner of the [Typewriter Emergencies Poetry Contest](https://www.typewriteremergencies.com/single-post/2018/02/13/Beneath-her-coat-was-a-whole-identity---1st-Place-Winner).}!{In *Eigengrau*}
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'''
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Beneath her coat was a whole identity:
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A subtle form of ideas under soft fur,
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A constantly shifting mass of meaning...
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And somehow, she pulled it off.
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She would go for days without shedding a thing,
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And then, as if a bottle rolling off a counter,
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She would shatter, sending shards of self flying,
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And then we'd all see.
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Then we'd all see the terror, the joy,
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Then we'd all see the grief at nothing,
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Then we'd all hear her say,
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"I'm not built for a life with death in it."
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And slowly, she'd pick herself back up
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And find a brand new way to piece herself together
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And build herself a brand new smile
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And brush out her coat once more.
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'''
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-----
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!{In *Eigengrau*}
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'''
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Disvolvu mian haŭton el mia karno
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Verŝu mian sangon el mi kiel vino
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Prenu mian vivon, tenu ĝin sub via lango:
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Amara pilolo por gustumi
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Bruligu min, entombigu min poste
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Loku ŝtonon super kie mi kuŝas
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Lasu tempo manĝi vian memorojn pri mi
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Lasta peceto por gustumi
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-----
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Unwind my skin from my flesh.
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Pour my blood from me like wine.
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Take my life, hold it beneath your tongue:
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A bitter pill to savor.
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Burn me, then entomb me.
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Place a stone over where I lie.
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Let time eat your memories of me:
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A final morsel to savor.
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'''
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