Haiku -
i leave my apartment
like a sentence left unfinished
hair wet and mussed from
the shower
taken only minutes before
Erin C. Bradfield, 10 February 03
I.
and i outstretched my arm
reaching with bent fingertips
until my hand shakes
and the veins protrude
i falter
because my whorls and arches
touch nothing
still across this empasse
i lift digits
trying to connect
even if these hands
will inevitably be thrust
into empty pockets
even though i know
it makes no sense
my half moons smile back
when the crisp air touches --
leaving the comfort of warm pockets
knowingly smile
because they can do nothing else
II.
the ink runs the color of confession
part of me poured out onto paper
but the writing nervously no longer
resembles mine -- a penmanship borrowed
from somewhere else entirely
at that critical moment
in which it should betray something
deeper than
and while the words are loyal
the hand loses its surety
spins, away from the pen
twisting the shapes until they
resemble nothing of this alphabet
you disarm me so
but your lack of response
stamps my heart with
now inked 'return to sender'
in the most impersonal manner
guess i'm glad the writing
didn't look like me after all
it would hurt me more then
to have you refuse to look
to refuse
E.C. Bradfield, 6 February 03
And one more. Tell me what you think, especially some poet friends....you know who you are. Critique me, tell me the good the bad and the ugly of my non-rhymes.
fingers cracking red and white
as they clench against melting snow
compacted tight into a ball
as the sky still falls in flakes
small enough to encompass your world
her soul caught in a shiver
that no kindling could warm
so desolate was she
isolate in all her ways
nothing could serve to salvage her
and she looked like an angel
just then, caught in relief
against the blank landscape
her eyes darker than ever
she lifts her face
and upward she seems to soar
without ever leaving earth --
a paradox of white
she breathes no more.
E.C. Bradfield, 10 February 03
A couple of things...
There may or may not be something to this...
I.
seduced by French words on paper
the notes in the margin
lightened by wear
in forgotten pencil
still the air was moved by them
the film shows through
makes us zero the images
out of life
giving that negation
a reinstated meaning
i see
a girl laughing a short hyena laugh, ad annoyance
ekoostik hookah
the power of porn
woman, low cut dress
flash cut print on my
retinas
as the light strobes my vision
into partials and pixels merely
too fast to edit and perceive
my mind only takes
it up piecemeal
trying to unify the fragment
(later on)
a steaming cup of coffee
plain white mug
a tiki hula man swaying
endlessly on a dashboard
a girl with untied shoelaces
figeting with her pencap
fingernails painted black,
slightly chipped away at
cold hands, pink with temperature
snow falling without sound, enshrouding the earth
in crystalline light
SOMETHING TO PONDER
So I have found someone who has the exact same funk as the notorious EL K of Gate House fame. I couldn't believe it. He is the dj after me at WRVU 91.1fm, and I forgot about it because he hasn't showed up at the beginning the last coupla weeks. But today he was back in his Karns-esque smelly glory. I couldn't fucking believe it. And still can't. Maybe the world is unravelling, I don't really know.
See
In Praise Of Love . I know that I sound like some artsy fartsy film chick, but it is amazing. Jean-Luc Godard is my personal hero, and I am the ticket takers hero for seeing it twice in a couple of days at the same theater. I am someone's hero. This too, I cannot fathom. I am hardly hero material.
All-nighters are good for the soul.
If you sleep too much,
or only dream while in bed
it makes you soft.
Inspiration comes in a caffeinated haze
when your bloodstream is heightened,
is screaming for hydration at about 3 am
and you say to yourself
one more cup of coffee for the road
when you really meanabout five more until 7am or so
let's be honest --
some of the best thinking we do
is when our heads aren't screwed on so tight
so leave your toolbox out in the snow, you don't need it anymore.
ECB 9 February 03
