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the saddest blog that ever was
8.01.2006:
schizothymia
Moored ship, on what was once the sea
rusticated remnants of past vessels of meaning.
she cries, and the fat tears
like barnacles, like the soft pulpy insides of mussel shells
cling to the bottom of this hollow hull
slopes down the curvatures, old times and spaces recalled.
It is said the world moves in dollops
creamed air, sound draped in layers of wax,
all glacial, inpenetrable muffle: tundra of the soul.
Things trudge side to side in ungainly buckets
drained of line, color, depth. Sheer emotive capacity
stilled; a tap turned off, an engine stalled.
Once a doctor told her to disbelieve
in the laws of celestial motion, planetary veridicality.
She marvelled at the gleaming joy he held
shiny and wet as a newborn, at his discovery:
her schizothymia. "Cezanne had it, El Greco. Da Vince
held no fervid touch, dreaming of vultures flapping at the gates.
These waves were once a liquid paradise;
our love an ocean to spear the heavens, water the years.
schizothymia. Now these things seethe in you
as Casper's frozen sea of ice.
And I, shipwrecked upon an artic shore,
am the captain forsaken in the tide.
Blog // 2:22 PM
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