Revisited

And you
For whom now
I
Do not even exist
Do you also
No longer recall
The flesh of my
Arm
Beneath your finger;
The scent of my
Neck
On your pillow
Each morning
What a shame to let
Go
All that must be let
Go
In order to forget only
Well, only,
           Just
               Me
Jejune we were
And are, perhaps,
As only one can
Be
In middle age,
The middle way,
Now
That all the other,
So many other
Paths
Have crossed
Too close
But I remember
If you do not
That you always
Lit my cigarettes
Fresh
From a match
Not a Bic, and
Never
No, never
From yours
I remember
Laughter
Lying laughter
Legs linked at the knees
Maddened
By the charm
So much charm
All the charm
Of one another
And are you
Now,
One of the unseen five
Hundred?  My own
Tiresias
Blindly watching,
Wordlessly wondering,
Waiting only to see if
You
Are the ancient love
Of which I speak
No
I think not
No
I think no
I have learned
Across the years
Across these years
Across these oh so
So many years,
I have learned
Just how
Forgettable 
           I 
             am
And just how
Dead
The forgotten
Truly are.

©sdrogers 13 june 2015

Lassitude

Everyone is
beautiful at
20

aren’t they?

The first time I heard her
she was already middle aged

she walked in on his back
standing dirty in the doorway
a limewhite aura fuzzled
pink around his head

I’d like to hear you sing

and so would you
you say
but you don’t know
you don’t know
you don’t know
do you

what I mean
when I say
H A R M O N Y

an intensely personal narrative

my life
my words

there is no
culling
one from the other

an intensely boring personal narrative

which I write
in funky impossible
jazz shapes
which no one can
manage
to format
CORRECT

ly

hangtime
hangtime
there is no more
hangtime

and perhaps
I
am to be the one
who calls drunk
and not
the receiver

never
the receiver

my tongue curls
at the high notes
my dimples sink
at the memory

at the memory
at the memory
at

all

the memories

the crinkly satin
of what I almost
did not wear,
the curl
of his fingers
deep inside

and all of it all of it all of it
R E A L

as real as Tony Bennet’s
toupee

©sdrogers 20 february 2014

Areel

Closeup.

There was a
chance,
a very real
chance,
that he might
disappear
completely
into her eyes.

Take.

What would that
be,
to disappear
completely
into such a darkness.
What would that
take
from him
What would that
give.

Low-angle.
Extreme.

Without label
Without title
Without purpose
beyond keeping the
light
always
just where she might
find it,
just where she might
tilt her head
just so
just where
she might never be
cold
again.

Cross-cutting
no more.

No more
bits
of life strewn
across another
floor,
no more
edits
no more
jumps
no more
wipes.

Just the
Iris-in
of silence.
And the
Dissolve
of life
as it was
meant
to be lived.

©sdrogers 10 february 2014

Plumbing

the bottle
tips
over
empty
always
so empty

a splash of
Jack
upon the glass
and all reflection
is
lost

Prompt me
Prompt me
Prompt me

You
do not understand
do you
my love of William
my Love
of William

Still
you must remember
a filtered lens for me
always
a filtered lens
shoot me blue
perhaps
blue
yes, blue

Yes
I am lost

once
I knew them
all of them
thirty-seven
chrono

logical

ly

now
I despair

yesterday
watching
I heard Hamlet
whine
a Skywalker
whine
in iambic pentameter
ad nauseum
ad infinitum

Broadway – v- Hollywood
a match that meant
so much
at one time
at one time

runs of laughter
down labyrinthine ways
have left me
shaken
and
empty

lying on my back
spoiled child that I am
a coward
a drunk
sun purring above
as they stash me
away

pressure of a pen
on my riven heart
while memory screens
the ghost of you
upon a page

your voice alive again
in the hashmarks and crosshairs
of E

nun

ci

a

tion

there lie
I

shrouded in Absinthe
all faerie green and silver sugar

nothing is as
dead
as I shall be
when lights unnamed
are finally dimmed
and the last and best
of the wormwood curtains
are finally struck
down

©sdrogers 1 february 2014

Which Lion Vile

Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on, ‘til truth make all things plain.

                    ~William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene 1

how many, how much of
life has dissolved while you,
in your Place of Honour, kept
silent, she asked.

Wall said nothing.

is this… no, T H I S, she
pointed, is this the first
moon, the blue one,
the one i told you
Not to Miss.  or is it the
other – the yellow – no – the
tansy one, the tansy one with
its amber faults that will not
rise again for lifetimes upon
lifetimes upon lifetimes.

Still Wall was silent.

she flipped a page
now this one i
Know, this one i
Named.  i named it
before you even
considered Names,
before there was ever
any… … …
what comes before
dreams?

Before dreams there is colour,
Wall spoke.
Primarily Primary Colour.

oh,
she said,
yes, i can see that,
she said.
for there was no
red,
she said.
there was no
green,
she said.
there was no
blue,
she said.
before You.
she said.

Now you are grown Maudlin,
whispered Wall with a flake.
Unworthy, Unbecoming.

Yes, she said.  Well – not
that this is an excuse — but
Maudlin
does come from living
with, surrounded and upheld
by, the Alice Blue marble of your
cold, straight back;
does come from languishing
in,  engulfed and entombed
by, the Blanched Almond Bisque of your
unyielding, flint arms.  from living in
arches and holes, branches and water,  with
snake-railed deer and Bradbury mushrooms,
Orange
with never a shelter of
Grey.

Wall said nothing.

do you remember, she asked
after a moment.   do you remember
when first you saw me?

No, answered Wall without
pause.  I do not remember.
I do not remember, because there was
never
Time
without you in it.

Oh my, she laughed.  sometimes i
forget,  if you can imagine, just how
clever you are.

Wall cracked quietly near the roof.

Well,
she said.
i remember.
i was Black and White.
always.
Noir et Blanc.
toujours.
but i knew enough of
Colour
to be afraid, to be truly
afraid, of your mirrored
gaze.  the one that went
through me, all the way to
Summer.

Warnings were posted, reminded Wall.

yes, she said, pointing.  there first, then
there, and finally There – the Brilliant
Pink one with the Brick Red teeth.

You chose to ignore them, reminded Wall.

and you chose to let me, she nodded.

Wall said nothing, though his chink
quivered
a bit.

there was a long pause
then she said,
do you know, that when you
enter, if you enter, a maze,
you should keep your
left hand on the
left wall, on the
Left wall without
ever letting go.
if you do that, you will,
eventually, come to safety.
but only
if
you never let go

of Me, Wall said.

yes, she sighed.
of you.
which is all green and
good.  if you enjoy a
maze.

Wall was silent.  As only
a Mechanical can be.

she turned another
page.  Never let them
say, she said.  Never
let them say there is no
colour in Hell.  Never let
them say, she said.  There is
only Red.  Never let them say,
she said.  There is only heat.
No.
There is Cold in Hell.
Cold.
There is Cold in Hell.
and it is
Full
of colour.

Wall began to weep, water
seeping from his corners.

all our life, she said,
You have been tired.

and selfish

and determined to
save, determined to
care for, everyone;
everyone
everyone
Everyone
but me.

Not true! cried Wall.
Not true, not true, not true…

she blew her nose.
oh well, she said, turning
back from Wall.  there
is also no
Truth
within the walls of
Hell; within the beautiful
Harlequin walls of
Hell

is there…?

©s rogers 15 january 2012


			

Frances

so we watched together
and
midway i stood
                               shaking
to walk the aisle alone

it’s only a movie

yes, but
but
yes, but

you do not
                      know
the terror as i 
                             know
the terror 

dark nights of blonde beauty that i will never be
blonde days of black that smother who you are
and leave you begging for the more that i cannot
give

there is compromise and then there is
Odets
the right combination of fury and confusion
that is me, that is me, that is
                                                         always
me

but we do not, she and i, posture for film
nor do we scream for effect
we merely, simply, completely
Are

and therein lies the fear
the wonder
if anybody really loves anybody
if you really lov
ed
    me

the difference between wine and tequila is
a beach
a beach with someone else’s
stuff

not my stuff
not my
               stuff

you let me know if you
                                              ever
decide to fall in
love

until then,
lo
bot
o
mize
me into peace

questo pensiero non dà la pace
di pace
di pace
di pace

©s rogers 27 june 2010