Mayday, Mayday

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Does the butterfly feel pain in the change?

What if the beauty is terrific

and the caterpillar screams inaudibly?

Will I come to a wall and never know?

How can these spring blooms break my heart again and again

when the wind loosens them gently?

The anniversary waltz that started a dream

goes on, it seems.

How does a connection grow when the onion skins over

and over so that physically

you are farther and farther away? and yet….

We always dream of a way not known.

A way felt, as in a new system of measuring.

How can you not trust it

when you stand to lose nothing?

But how can one gamble/ how can’t one gamble when you feel its breath?

Maybe we dream more as the doors are closed

and the walls put up.

The pockets of memories enshrined

and moved to the mantel in a cocoon you expect to die in.

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Fritz Wunderlich sings “Des Baches Wiegenlied” from Schubert’s Die Schoene Muellerin

I’m throating away

on this sunniest of days,

It was a gas

it was all that,,,,

I’m floating astray

on this sunniest of days,

it was none other than

a cataclysmic blast

A melancholic baby star

So fresh so far so deep

so black with tar

I blew the horn

and scared the hart

it left a scar and halted

physicality’s

bottomless

fall…

Yet

How can my lot be to not

keep measuring the immeasurable?

Oedipus and the Sphinx of Thebes | Red Figure Kylix, c. 470 BC, from Vulci | attributed to the Oedipus Painter | Vatican Museums

Oedipus_and_the_Sphinx_of_Thebes,_Red_Figure_Kylix,_c._470_BC,_from_Vulci,_attributed_to_the_Oedipus_Painter,_Vatican_Museums_(9665213064).jpg

oedipus
as if the eyes removed
remove the knowing
a dumb attempt at salving the pain of
another innocence lost,
a final innocence lost
is the doing a reflex?
is it the only reaction?
to stamp out the pain by force
is this the only recourse?!
a gun an answer?
violence via messenger
and not director
a headless hole
two eyeless holes
from a search for numbness
as if all sensation were vested
in the eyes
the real flaw
the big mistake
the disconnect that keeps us coming back for a sorry more-
or that cuts us down mid-sentence
because we couldn’t think past it, much less know that the accident is finite

you see, if only Oedipus hadn’t been so selfish, we would have misunderstood him entirely.