Dinner Table II
posted by tearful dishwasher at 7:35 PM
Thursday, July 28, 2005
About Me
- Name: tearful dishwasher
- Location: U.S. Outlying Islands
Fully engaged in the whole catastrophe
Previous Posts
- Samsara, Wrong Number.
- A Curse Shall Light Upon the Limbs of Men
- Small Progress
- Dinner Table
- Regard All Dharmas As Dreams
- The Way to Open The Heart Is to Release Yourself F...
- Things As They Are
- Prison Song
- Ed Gives Good Directions
- The Heart Has Four Chambers
4 Comments:
Ah, see? I knew you could do me without having a photo of my actual physical self:
Half There
That's me behind the hands, a self-
portrait sketched in pencil,
smudged and fading into background.
That's me, an empty pan, stained
with blood or rust or paint, dulled, yes, yet, still reflective.
That curve of silver light,
that crescent moon, waning,
yes, that pathetic half
of a halo is the shape
of my despair. Can't you see
my sadness is the night,
that my depression is angeled?
That's me, the shadow cast,
that lack of light, the absolute
blackness of an eclipse, lunar, yes. That's me, the bowl
of fruit, the shriveled plum,
the uneaten apple abandoned
on the table--but there's no bowl
in this still life, no fruit
in the picture. See? I told
I was invisible, that I was only ever half there.
Laurel-
Our bereaved angel. Our shriveled plum. Ah, how even in despair your heart, stained with blood and rust, demands its love from the world.
Good poem.
yrs-
Scott
Hey, dude.
Yeah, I like it. I quit so there's no smokes in the house.
Ah, well.
Thanks for dropping in....was feeling a bit.....well.
thanks.
Scott
*the stones - beast of burden*
nice work.
cheers! :)
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