kiss the rain
Jun. 15th, 2009 12:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
methrowrockI stumbled across this while bloghopping(herbonestructure.xanga.com):
Facts About The Moon (excerpt)
Dorianne Laux
Forget us. We don't deserve the moon.
Maybe we once did but not now
after all we've done. These nights
I harbor a secret pity for the moon, rolling
around alone in space without
her milky planet, her only love, a mother
who's lost a child, a bad child,
or a greedy child or maybe a grown boy
who's murdered and raped, a mother
who can't help it, she loves that boy
anyway, and in spite of herself
she misses him, and if you sit beside her
on the padded hospital bench
outside the door to his room you can't not
take her hand, listen to her while she
weeps, telling you how sweet he was,
how blue his eyes, and you know she's only
romanticizing, that she's conveniently
forgotten the bruises and booze,
the stolen car, the day he ripped
the phones from the walls, and you want
to slap her back to sanity, remind her
of the truth: he was a leech, a fuckup,
a little shit, and you almost do
until she lifts her pale puffy face, her eyes
two craters, and then you can't help it
either, you know love when you see it,
you can feel its lunar strength, its brutal pull.
have you ever pulled funny faces at yourself in the mirror? scrunching your brows here, flaring your nostrils there, giving those facial muscles a good workout and hoping that the wind doesn't change its direction, because you don't want to end up like those rubberfaced boys who had to be ejected on toadstools into the Halfway Clouds,-where the house of Dame Slapdash is peeping out of the pillowy cascade- and beg for the bitter-smelling ointment to make their faces right again. and then, have you ever felt not like yourself after that? as if your soul floated out and you were looking at yourself looking at yourself in the mirror. yeah, it is a weird feeling huh. i wonder what is the explanation for that. maybe your skin is not sticking tightly enough, maybe your body jarlid was not screwed tight enough, maybe your heart was not listening to your brain enough. and the minute that happens, you kind of forget everything that is worrying you in the world to realise that ohmygod,that'sasecond,aminute,anhourthati'llneverhaveagain and ohmygodthisislife,iamliving,thisistheonlytimewheniwillbehere and ohmygodsomedayiwon'tbehereanymorethenwhathappenstome and you begin to pinch yourself hard to awake to sensations of pain and reality. that today is today, now is now, this is this. that you have everything to live for and nothing to lose. and you shove all these burdensome thoughts to the back of your mind to simmer to become a vat of gurgling gruel, from which The Bogeyman would rise from.
Facts About The Moon (excerpt)
Dorianne Laux
Forget us. We don't deserve the moon.
Maybe we once did but not now
after all we've done. These nights
I harbor a secret pity for the moon, rolling
around alone in space without
her milky planet, her only love, a mother
who's lost a child, a bad child,
or a greedy child or maybe a grown boy
who's murdered and raped, a mother
who can't help it, she loves that boy
anyway, and in spite of herself
she misses him, and if you sit beside her
on the padded hospital bench
outside the door to his room you can't not
take her hand, listen to her while she
weeps, telling you how sweet he was,
how blue his eyes, and you know she's only
romanticizing, that she's conveniently
forgotten the bruises and booze,
the stolen car, the day he ripped
the phones from the walls, and you want
to slap her back to sanity, remind her
of the truth: he was a leech, a fuckup,
a little shit, and you almost do
until she lifts her pale puffy face, her eyes
two craters, and then you can't help it
either, you know love when you see it,
you can feel its lunar strength, its brutal pull.
have you ever pulled funny faces at yourself in the mirror? scrunching your brows here, flaring your nostrils there, giving those facial muscles a good workout and hoping that the wind doesn't change its direction, because you don't want to end up like those rubberfaced boys who had to be ejected on toadstools into the Halfway Clouds,-where the house of Dame Slapdash is peeping out of the pillowy cascade- and beg for the bitter-smelling ointment to make their faces right again. and then, have you ever felt not like yourself after that? as if your soul floated out and you were looking at yourself looking at yourself in the mirror. yeah, it is a weird feeling huh. i wonder what is the explanation for that. maybe your skin is not sticking tightly enough, maybe your body jarlid was not screwed tight enough, maybe your heart was not listening to your brain enough. and the minute that happens, you kind of forget everything that is worrying you in the world to realise that ohmygod,that'sasecond,aminute,anhourthati'llneverhaveagain and ohmygodthisislife,iamliving,thisistheonlytimewheniwillbehere and ohmygodsomedayiwon'tbehereanymorethenwhathappenstome and you begin to pinch yourself hard to awake to sensations of pain and reality. that today is today, now is now, this is this. that you have everything to live for and nothing to lose. and you shove all these burdensome thoughts to the back of your mind to simmer to become a vat of gurgling gruel, from which The Bogeyman would rise from.
