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< title > Zk | Mental health< / title >
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< h1 > Zk | Mental health< / h1 >
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< p > < span class = "tag" > writing< / span > < span class = "tag" > poetry< / span > < span class = "tag" > mental-health< / span > < / p >
< p > < q class = "comment" > In < em > Eigengrau< / em > < / q > < / p >
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< div class = "verse" > 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,
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.
I would be borne up through the clouds,
and grow lighter by the second.
Sublimation would claim me then,
atoms would scatter, diffuse.
All that energy poured to the air around me,
an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Particle would excite particle
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’ m felt only as warmth on your face.
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But even that would not be enough.< / div >
< hr / >
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< h2 id = "heligoland" > Heligoland< / h2 >
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< p > < q class = "comment" > In < em > Eigengrau< / em > < / q > < / p >
< div class = "verse" > Too many wine-dark seas need daily traversal,
And here the shipping forecast calls for rain.
The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks.
You can listen from start to finish
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.
Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage
is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying,
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And hope you don’ t stare blankly at my finger.< / div >
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< p > < em > Thanks to P.R.< / em > < / p >
< hr / >
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< h2 id = "bruise-vision" > Bruise vision< / h2 >
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< p > < q class = "comment" > In < em > Eigengrau< / em > < / q > < / p >
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< div class = "row" >
< div class = "col-md-4 text-right" >
< h3 > I< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Unnerving< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
Anxiety< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
A hundred geese overhead —
A thousand —
A million —
Heady scent of premonition.
Acrid tang of ill omens.
Portents.
Too much meaning
In too small a space.
< / div >
< / div >
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< h3 > II< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Noise-Cancelling Headphones< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
auditory aberrations< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
Geese are a byproduct of laminar shear stress
Of two layers of phantasmagorical
Newtonian fluids,
Which is why they’
A thin, sort-of Truth
From a sort of thin layer
geese chromatography.
< / div >
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< h3 > III< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Eldrich< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
red tint to vision; hot flashes< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
As the dove bears the olive branch,
so too the goose bears the wand
that withers all it touches.
A wand of nightshade,
Core of tainted silver.
A wand of obscure origin,
The goose surely stole it.
Malice begets malice.
< / div >
< / div >
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< h3 > IV< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Beyond Comprehension< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
confusion; nausea; sweating; racing pulse< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
We know not the transgression,
the origin -
We know not the punishment,
only the terror.
< / div >
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< h3 > V< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Excruciating< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
pounding heart; tunnel vision; racing thoughts; black outs;
blood pouring from ears< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
Geas
Wing
Dark
Horizon
< / div >
< / div >
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< h3 > VI< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Terrifying< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
tinnitus; piloerection; shortness of breath; uneven gait< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
I’
Owls, as though geese were turned inside out,
made less evil.
Still portentous,
Still momentous,
Just less terrifying.
Owls are okay.
I can think about owls.
< / div >
< / div >
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< h3 > VII< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Uncomfortable< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
subdermal itching; formication< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
Life within a comfortable grid.
Parallel lines
Interrupting narrowing circles
Of birds in flight.
Travel in straight lines.
Turn at right angles.
Trace the roof of your mouth
With wet tongue.
I’
Because I can step on them now.
I’
< / div >
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< h3 > VIII< / h3 >
< p > < em > Geese Level:< / em > < br / >
Birds< / p >
< p > < em > Expect:< / em > < br / >
birds< / p >
< / div >
< div class = "col-md-8 verse" >
Ritual thinking
Driven by geese —
By lines, by grids, by food —
By numbers and neat delineation.
And I’
Why the portents?
Why the anxiety?
Or maybe:
Did I take my meds this morning?
Failing that,
Can I just have the comfort of prayer
Or the ecstasy of signs
Without bleak paranoia
Over circling birds?
< / div >
< / div >
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< p > < em > Thanks to C.M.< / em > < / p >
< hr / >
< p > < q class = "comment" > First-place winner of the < a href = "https://www.typewriteremergencies.com/single-post/2018/02/13/Beneath-her-coat-was-a-whole-identity---1st-Place-Winner" > Typewriter Emergencies Poetry Contest< / a > .< / q > < q class = "comment" > In < em > Eigengrau< / em > < / q > < / p >
< div class = "verse" > Beneath her coat was a whole identity:
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.
She would go for days without shedding a thing,
And then, as if a bottle rolling off a counter,
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,
Then we’ d all see the grief at nothing,
Then we’ d all hear her say,
“ 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
And build herself a brand new smile
And brush out her coat once more.< / div >
< hr / >
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< h2 id = "asertu" > Asertu< / h2 >
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< p > < q class = "comment" > In < em > Eigengrau< / em > < / q > < / p >
< div class = "verse" > Disvolvu mian haŭton el mia karno
Verŝu mian sangon el mi kiel vino
Prenu mian vivon, tenu ĝin sub via lango:
Amara pilolo por gustumi
Bruligu min, entombigu min poste
Loku ŝtonon super kie mi kuŝas
Lasu tempo manĝi vian memorojn pri mi
Lasta peceto por gustumi
-----
Unwind my skin from my flesh.
Pour my blood from me like wine.
Take my life, hold it beneath your tongue:
A bitter pill to savor.
Burn me, then entomb me.
Place a stone over where I lie.
Let time eat your memories of me:
A final morsel to savor.< / div >
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< hr / >
< h2 id = "rush" > Rush< / h2 >
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< p > < q class = "comment" > In < em > Eigengrau< / em > < / q >
< q class = "comment" > In < em > ally< / em > < / q > < / p >
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< div class = "verse" > A flash of coppery sweetness,
A clearing of the sinuses,
A burst of unnamed colors,
A rush of creativity, of wonder,
Velvety softness, a low hum,
And then the wave recedes.< / div >
< hr / >
< h2 id = "cycle" > Cycle< / h2 >
< div class = "verse" > Up cycle
Down cycle
Round and round
Push cycle
Pull cycle
Round and round and round
Here cycle
There cycle
Round and round
Bounce cycle
Slide cycle
Round and round and round
Free cycle
Wild cycle
Round and round
Unstoppable cycle
Uncontrollable cycle
Round and round and
Slam cycle
Crash cycle
And round and
Cut cycle
Burn cycle
And and round and
Crush cycle
Destroy cycle
And
Plan cycle
Note cycle
Rou-
Shower cycle
Wash cycle
.
Up cycle
Down cycle
Round and round< / div >
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< p > Page generated on 2023-05-10< / p >
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