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New poem: Passer

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feed.xml
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@ -10,6 +10,86 @@
<email>vanevander@mayvaneday.org</email>
</author>
<entry>
<title>Passer</title>
<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/p/passer.txt" />
<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/p/passer.txt</id>
<published>2022-04-23</published>
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
<pre>
Dreams of my youth in red,
painted in bloodshed
from retribution for crimes
where my body was ripped away,
proclaimed
not mine,
belonging to someone else
along with my life.
Yearning to dig my claws into
someone else's flesh,
feel
the heart giving way,
no longer obligated to kneel
at my nemesis'
behest.
But over this Inside lies a veil.
And while I lie
in the land of the blind
half-seeing with eyes groping
for a shred of the life
last life's death made me left behind,
I cannot go feral, cannot exhume
the beast inside me built of chaos and doom.
Imagined revenge in a manner
that would not bring me harm,
would never, could never
be traced back to me,
never raise any alarm
bells.
But the skies have grown pale
on this day laden with angel
numbers. Death in the family.
A pet's soul has chosen to set sail.
The wish is granted. The curse is complete.
The harm has been done, but it does not taste sweet.
You remember, don't you? My thelema, my fate
was to love at any cost and forget how to hate.
There's a difference between the sexes in most that I've seen:
men opt to destroy, and women first choose to escape,
choose to from what they find odious themselves separate.
I don't want my enemies to drop over dead.
I just want to never have my neck be stomped on again.
Does that make sense?
My mother is mourning upstairs.
"Mourn." When I had first heard
in elementary school that word,
I'd thought it was short for "morning",
as in, "I am sad and waiting for the sun to rise,
reassurance that I survived,
that I've still inside me got some life
left."
Mother, I hope that one day
you'll forgive me for taking your baby sunshine away.
That you'll watch the next sunrise for me
after my psychopomp has taken me to Sablade.
The sun is also a star.
And in time
another star will rise.
And I can't believe
after everything
I'm saying this, but I hope
this won't be our last goodbye.
</pre>
</article>]]>
</summary>
</entry>
<entry>
<title>In The End Of Everything</title>
<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/e/end.txt" />
@ -239,97 +319,4 @@ much longer."
</summary>
</entry>
<entry>
<title>Stealing Time</title>
<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/s/stealing-time.txt" />
<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/s/stealing-time.txt</id>
<published>2022-04-04</published>
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
<pre>
The bike path has been sprayed
with meteors, brown and burnished
and leaking to yellow, to naught.
Trees have done their part to furnish
the path
with each and every fallen branch
they could spare. The flags are frayed,
marking the entrance to Dead End Shrine,
sandwiched between two rainy days
and welcoming this stolen time.
This stolen time,
I've come to find,
is the only place where I can live.
Leaving work early,
wings unfurling
to mark a time loop created,
these bike trips where far too long I've left
to not come home covered in muck and sweat
and yet somehow never do,
the severed hours after bedtime
when comes to me all these rhymes,
rest of family long self-sedated.
I don't like this waiting.
I don't like the parting
when comes time for my love to once more return home.
"Please don't go.
Either stay
or take
me with you."
Every natural process of life
that I've ever shied
away from
becomes
less able to terrify
with her at my side.
I've made my peace
with the regular bleed
whether from womb or breast,
the growth of velvet patches
along my hips and chest,
the hot flashes,
the persistent desire
to rip open my seams
and throw my guts to the fire.
But my brain refuses to cooperate with me.
It's stealing time,
stealing memories.
I know that forgetfulness is my domain,
but there's still some recollections
I'd like to remain.
There's still some reflections
I don't recognize.
Stealing someone's body,
looking out through their eyes,
wearing like a coat their spirit, their life.
It makes sense in the moment,
the logic of how their life goes,
but I wake up and I wonder
why
this stranger is so vivid
but not my own exploits in the Outside.
I promised her that when came
the day
for me to give up this vessel and die,
I'd let her climb into my bed with me
instead of kneeling at my bedside.
Emulating that which my mother
did, but trading one body for another.
One last breach out of the womb.
One last parent-induced cry.
And after we leave, I promise you
I'll make up for the stolen time.
</pre>
</article>]]>
</summary>
</entry>
</feed>

2
poetry/index.gmi
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@ -111,7 +111,7 @@
=> p/prepari.txt prepari
=> p/pressed.txt pressed flower petals
=> p/psa.txt Public Disservice Announcement
=> p/passer.txt Passer
## R
=> r/reakirante.txt reakirante
=> r/regnant.txt regnant

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poetry/index.gph
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@ -112,6 +112,7 @@ iP
0prepari p/prepari.txt
0pressed flower petals p/pressed-flower-petals.txt
0Public Disservice Announcement p/psa.txt
0Passer p/passer.txt
iR
0reakirante r/reakirante.txt

5
poetry/index.html
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@ -72,7 +72,6 @@
│   ├── <a href="./g/gemini.txt">gemini.txt</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./g/green.txt">green.txt</a><br>
│   └── <a href="./g/the-golden-cage.txt">the-golden-cage.txt</a><br>
├── <a href="./gophermap">gophermap</a><br>
├── <a href="./h/">h</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./h/haru.txt">haru.txt</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./h/hoarding.txt">hoarding.txt</a><br>
@ -81,6 +80,7 @@
├── <a href="./i/">i</a><br>
│   └── <a href="./i/irantaj.txt">irantaj.txt</a><br>
├── <a href="./index.gmi">index.gmi</a><br>
├── <a href="./index.gph">index.gph</a><br>
├── <a href="./index.html">index.html</a><br>
├── <a href="./j/">j</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./j/jugo.txt">jugo.txt</a><br>
@ -121,6 +121,7 @@
│   ├── <a href="./o/one-less-box.txt">one-less-box.txt</a><br>
│   └── <a href="./o/oracle.txt">oracle.txt</a><br>
├── <a href="./p/">p</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./p/passer.txt">passer.txt</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./p/perdition-eden.txt">perdition-eden.txt</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./p/prayer-dark.txt">prayer-dark.txt</a><br>
│   ├── <a href="./p/prayer-light.txt">prayer-light.txt</a><br>
@ -174,7 +175,7 @@
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; └── <a href="./w/wme.txt">wme.txt</a><br>
<br><br><p>
22 directories, 124 files
22 directories, 125 files
</p>
<hr>

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poetry/p/passer.txt Normal file
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@ -0,0 +1,77 @@
Passer
2022-04-23
***
Dreams of my youth in red,
painted in bloodshed
from retribution for crimes
where my body was ripped away,
proclaimed
not mine,
belonging to someone else
along with my life.
Yearning to dig my claws into
someone else's flesh,
feel
the heart giving way,
no longer obligated to kneel
at my nemesis'
behest.
But over this Inside lies a veil.
And while I lie
in the land of the blind
half-seeing with eyes groping
for a shred of the life
last life's death made me left behind,
I cannot go feral, cannot exhume
the beast inside me built of chaos and doom.
Imagined revenge in a manner
that would not bring me harm,
would never, could never
be traced back to me,
never raise any alarm
bells.
But the skies have grown pale
on this day laden with angel
numbers. Death in the family.
A pet's soul has chosen to set sail.
The wish is granted. The curse is complete.
The harm has been done, but it does not taste sweet.
You remember, don't you? My thelema, my fate
was to love at any cost and forget how to hate.
There's a difference between the sexes in most that I've seen:
men opt to destroy, and women first choose to escape,
choose to from what they find odious themselves separate.
I don't want my enemies to drop over dead.
I just want to never have my neck be stomped on again.
Does that make sense?
My mother is mourning upstairs.
"Mourn." When I had first heard
in elementary school that word,
I'd thought it was short for "morning",
as in, "I am sad and waiting for the sun to rise,
reassurance that I survived,
that I've still inside me got some life
left."
Mother, I hope that one day
you'll forgive me for taking your baby sunshine away.
That you'll watch the next sunrise for me
after my psychopomp has taken me to Sablade.
The sun is also a star.
And in time
another star will rise.
And I can't believe
after everything
I'm saying this, but I hope
this won't be our last goodbye.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander