Unwanted Odyssey

Unwanted Odyssey


There is a memory I wear

Like an unwanted skin.

I’ve been living like a storm

Trying to shake it off.

The harbours and avenues

Of the world have welcomed me

Like a needle into my veins.

Wild languages and kinky nights

Have been my odyssey

Of blood and foam.

But nothing can strip me

Of the fate-searing memory!

It is a memory made of beauty

That drags me into despair.

The farther away time takes me

From its once-numinous light,

The more monstrous it grows.

At the beginning, I cherished the despair;

It helped me keep the beauty

Of that salivating memory alive.

And then despair became  my moon;

Dancing around me,

Casting shadows over my every season.

Now, I know, my release could only come

From repeating the old, haunting memory.

It’s all I long for,

That nuclear hope teases too brightly

And when that day comes

I will help unleash a universe of horrors

That will render my life

Purely and mythically unrecognisable.

But I will gladly embrace

A lifelong parade of horrors

Just for another fleeting touch

From the burning hands of beauty.



Dying Odyssey


There is a river

With its source in dreams

And its delta in waking anguish.

When I conjure the memory

Of that long-ago night

I hear my life as the sweet trickle

Of a somnambulant stream.

As I begin to awake

I toss and writhe

Between longing and disbelief.

Somewhere behind my flickering eyelids

The river becomes my purgatory.

When I finally awake I see

The river incarnate, flowing

Like a grey choir of regret,

Through the city’s artery.

The river is no longer mine;

It belongs to the tide of men.

Its ancient, ridged waves

An historical ECG of times past;

Crusades, invasions,

Plagues, revolutions

And shoe-less gulags.

This isn’t my history,

But my memory and all

Its deified anguish

Is drowned by the onrushing choir.

Now I long for the river

Of my immortal dreams

The way the defeated

Long for the euphoria of death.





It’s over.

Ennui pours through the cracks,

Silence echoes in unending mirrors.

It’s over.

I’ve given up and the roses

Taunt me from their cages.

It’s over.

In the sun-kissed wind something stirs;

No, it’s just memory’s dying breath.

It’s over.

I want to move but I will let

The earth orbit me, a dead star.

It’s over.

Here I lie, writing words

I don’t even need.

It’s over.



Unwanted Odyssey II


How I crave the spring

When it is spring

And how I long for the sun

When it is sunny.

I have always been like this,

A sort of child in the dark,

Not knowing – or caring –

What wanting means

Except that it is a verb

And that it exists (abstractedly)

In the indecipherable waves of language.


But now something’s happened.

Beauty came into my life

Like a flash of lightning,

Leaving behind a darkness

Darker than before it struck.

It has forced me into

An adolescence where wanting

Is the song that ensnares

The tepidity of my life.


Now I crave the spring

When it is autumn

And I long for the sun

When it is raining.

I was never like this

And I never wanted to be

Because I never wanted anything.

Now I want wanting itself,

Oblivious to its abstraction.


I want to be like I was before,

But now I think I would miss

The craving of that most

Intoxicating of wanting:

Wanting to be struck

By the sweet, fleeting fire

Of lightning-bright beauty.






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