New poem: Passer
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<email>vanevander@mayvaneday.org</email>
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</author>
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<entry>
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<title>Passer</title>
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<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/p/passer.txt" />
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<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/p/passer.txt</id>
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<published>2022-04-23</published>
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<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
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<pre>
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Dreams of my youth in red,
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painted in bloodshed
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from retribution for crimes
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where my body was ripped away,
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proclaimed
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not mine,
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belonging to someone else
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along with my life.
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Yearning to dig my claws into
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someone else's flesh,
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feel
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the heart giving way,
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no longer obligated to kneel
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at my nemesis'
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behest.
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But over this Inside lies a veil.
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And while I lie
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in the land of the blind
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half-seeing with eyes groping
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for a shred of the life
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last life's death made me left behind,
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I cannot go feral, cannot exhume
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the beast inside me built of chaos and doom.
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Imagined revenge in a manner
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that would not bring me harm,
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would never, could never
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be traced back to me,
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never raise any alarm
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bells.
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But the skies have grown pale
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on this day laden with angel
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numbers. Death in the family.
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A pet's soul has chosen to set sail.
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The wish is granted. The curse is complete.
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The harm has been done, but it does not taste sweet.
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You remember, don't you? My thelema, my fate
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was to love at any cost and forget how to hate.
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There's a difference between the sexes in most that I've seen:
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men opt to destroy, and women first choose to escape,
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choose to from what they find odious themselves separate.
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I don't want my enemies to drop over dead.
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I just want to never have my neck be stomped on again.
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Does that make sense?
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My mother is mourning upstairs.
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"Mourn." When I had first heard
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in elementary school that word,
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I'd thought it was short for "morning",
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as in, "I am sad and waiting for the sun to rise,
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reassurance that I survived,
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that I've still inside me got some life
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left."
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Mother, I hope that one day
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you'll forgive me for taking your baby sunshine away.
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That you'll watch the next sunrise for me
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after my psychopomp has taken me to Sablade.
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The sun is also a star.
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And in time
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another star will rise.
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And I can't believe
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after everything
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I'm saying this, but I hope
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this won't be our last goodbye.
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</pre>
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</article>]]>
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</summary>
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</entry>
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<entry>
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<title>In The End Of Everything</title>
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<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/e/end.txt" />
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@ -239,97 +319,4 @@ much longer."
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</summary>
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</entry>
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<entry>
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<title>Stealing Time</title>
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<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/s/stealing-time.txt" />
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<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/s/stealing-time.txt</id>
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<published>2022-04-04</published>
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<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
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<pre>
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The bike path has been sprayed
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with meteors, brown and burnished
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and leaking to yellow, to naught.
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Trees have done their part to furnish
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the path
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with each and every fallen branch
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they could spare. The flags are frayed,
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marking the entrance to Dead End Shrine,
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sandwiched between two rainy days
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and welcoming this stolen time.
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This stolen time,
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I've come to find,
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is the only place where I can live.
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Leaving work early,
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wings unfurling
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to mark a time loop created,
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these bike trips where far too long I've left
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to not come home covered in muck and sweat
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and yet somehow never do,
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the severed hours after bedtime
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when comes to me all these rhymes,
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rest of family long self-sedated.
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I don't like this waiting.
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I don't like the parting
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when comes time for my love to once more return home.
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"Please don't go.
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Either stay
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or take
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me with you."
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Every natural process of life
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that I've ever shied
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away from
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becomes
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less able to terrify
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with her at my side.
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I've made my peace
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with the regular bleed
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whether from womb or breast,
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the growth of velvet patches
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along my hips and chest,
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the hot flashes,
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the persistent desire
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to rip open my seams
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and throw my guts to the fire.
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But my brain refuses to cooperate with me.
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It's stealing time,
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stealing memories.
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I know that forgetfulness is my domain,
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but there's still some recollections
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I'd like to remain.
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There's still some reflections
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I don't recognize.
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Stealing someone's body,
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looking out through their eyes,
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wearing like a coat their spirit, their life.
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It makes sense in the moment,
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the logic of how their life goes,
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but I wake up and I wonder
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why
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this stranger is so vivid
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but not my own exploits in the Outside.
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I promised her that when came
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the day
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for me to give up this vessel and die,
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I'd let her climb into my bed with me
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instead of kneeling at my bedside.
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Emulating that which my mother
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did, but trading one body for another.
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One last breach out of the womb.
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One last parent-induced cry.
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And after we leave, I promise you
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I'll make up for the stolen time.
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</pre>
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</article>]]>
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</summary>
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</entry>
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</feed>
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@ -111,7 +111,7 @@
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=> p/prepari.txt prepari
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=> p/pressed.txt pressed flower petals
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=> p/psa.txt Public Disservice Announcement
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=> p/passer.txt Passer
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## R
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=> r/reakirante.txt reakirante
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=> r/regnant.txt regnant
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@ -112,6 +112,7 @@ iP
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0prepari p/prepari.txt
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0pressed flower petals p/pressed-flower-petals.txt
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0Public Disservice Announcement p/psa.txt
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0Passer p/passer.txt
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iR
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0reakirante r/reakirante.txt
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@ -72,7 +72,6 @@
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│ ├── <a href="./g/gemini.txt">gemini.txt</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./g/green.txt">green.txt</a><br>
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│ └── <a href="./g/the-golden-cage.txt">the-golden-cage.txt</a><br>
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├── <a href="./gophermap">gophermap</a><br>
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├── <a href="./h/">h</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./h/haru.txt">haru.txt</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./h/hoarding.txt">hoarding.txt</a><br>
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@ -81,6 +80,7 @@
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├── <a href="./i/">i</a><br>
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│ └── <a href="./i/irantaj.txt">irantaj.txt</a><br>
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├── <a href="./index.gmi">index.gmi</a><br>
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├── <a href="./index.gph">index.gph</a><br>
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├── <a href="./index.html">index.html</a><br>
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├── <a href="./j/">j</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./j/jugo.txt">jugo.txt</a><br>
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@ -121,6 +121,7 @@
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│ ├── <a href="./o/one-less-box.txt">one-less-box.txt</a><br>
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│ └── <a href="./o/oracle.txt">oracle.txt</a><br>
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├── <a href="./p/">p</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./p/passer.txt">passer.txt</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./p/perdition-eden.txt">perdition-eden.txt</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./p/prayer-dark.txt">prayer-dark.txt</a><br>
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│ ├── <a href="./p/prayer-light.txt">prayer-light.txt</a><br>
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@ -174,7 +175,7 @@
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└── <a href="./w/wme.txt">wme.txt</a><br>
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<br><br><p>
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22 directories, 124 files
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22 directories, 125 files
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</p>
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<hr>
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@ -0,0 +1,77 @@
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Passer
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2022-04-23
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***
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Dreams of my youth in red,
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painted in bloodshed
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from retribution for crimes
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where my body was ripped away,
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proclaimed
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not mine,
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belonging to someone else
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along with my life.
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Yearning to dig my claws into
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someone else's flesh,
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feel
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the heart giving way,
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no longer obligated to kneel
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at my nemesis'
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behest.
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But over this Inside lies a veil.
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And while I lie
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in the land of the blind
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half-seeing with eyes groping
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for a shred of the life
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last life's death made me left behind,
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I cannot go feral, cannot exhume
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the beast inside me built of chaos and doom.
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Imagined revenge in a manner
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that would not bring me harm,
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would never, could never
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be traced back to me,
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never raise any alarm
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bells.
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But the skies have grown pale
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on this day laden with angel
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numbers. Death in the family.
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A pet's soul has chosen to set sail.
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The wish is granted. The curse is complete.
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The harm has been done, but it does not taste sweet.
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You remember, don't you? My thelema, my fate
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was to love at any cost and forget how to hate.
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There's a difference between the sexes in most that I've seen:
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men opt to destroy, and women first choose to escape,
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choose to from what they find odious themselves separate.
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I don't want my enemies to drop over dead.
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I just want to never have my neck be stomped on again.
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Does that make sense?
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My mother is mourning upstairs.
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"Mourn." When I had first heard
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in elementary school that word,
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I'd thought it was short for "morning",
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as in, "I am sad and waiting for the sun to rise,
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reassurance that I survived,
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that I've still inside me got some life
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left."
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Mother, I hope that one day
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you'll forgive me for taking your baby sunshine away.
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That you'll watch the next sunrise for me
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after my psychopomp has taken me to Sablade.
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The sun is also a star.
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And in time
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another star will rise.
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And I can't believe
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after everything
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I'm saying this, but I hope
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this won't be our last goodbye.
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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