Poem: In the Mirror

Death in the mirror by mirakkkkk

The death I see
coming to me
stops to chat
more frequently.

"How's my good man?"
he asks, all grin
and bonhomie.
He can get in

any body-hole.
I squeeze mine shut,
don't even breathe.
He can hear what

I think, so I don't,
except for Go.
Because he's fast,
I try to be slow—

slow as prehistory,
slow as a stone,
slow as eternity,
slow as alone.

"I am Alone,"
he boasts. "It's fun.
I get to kiss
everyone."

His lips become
a luscious bed.
"I'll kiss you
before you're dead.

I'm the last one
you will see.
If I were you,
I'd be nicer to me."

What in the world
would that mean?
I'm afraid to ask.
Something obscene

no doubt he looks
red hot to say.
Is it possible
death is gay?

"Of course I am—
or, rather, bi-.
How do you think
women die?"

He heard my thought—
I forgot he can.
"Why would you want
to be a man?"

I finally ask aloud.
"You are thick,"
he replies. "If you were
a brick I'd be a brick.

I'm the mirror
of your sorry soul.
I reflect you
completely whole."

And when I look
I can see
him melting back
into me:

his lips, his eyes,
his razor brains.
My doughy wrinkles.
My spider veins.

~ Michael Ryan

Poem: In the Mirror

Death in the mirror by mirakkkkk

The death I see
coming to me
stops to chat
more frequently.

"How's my good man?"
he asks, all grin
and bonhomie.
He can get in

any body-hole.
I squeeze mine shut,
don't even breathe.
He can hear what

I think, so I don't,
except for Go.
Because he's fast,
I try to be slow—

slow as prehistory,
slow as a stone,
slow as eternity,
slow as alone.

"I am Alone,"
he boasts. "It's fun.
I get to kiss
everyone."

His lips become
a luscious bed.
"I'll kiss you
before you're dead.

I'm the last one
you will see.
If I were you,
I'd be nicer to me."

What in the world
would that mean?
I'm afraid to ask.
Something obscene

no doubt he looks
red hot to say.
Is it possible
death is gay?

"Of course I am—
or, rather, bi-.
How do you think
women die?"

He heard my thought—
I forgot he can.
"Why would you want
to be a man?"

I finally ask aloud.
"You are thick,"
he replies. "If you were
a brick I'd be a brick.

I'm the mirror
of your sorry soul.
I reflect you
completely whole."

And when I look
I can see
him melting back
into me:

his lips, his eyes,
his razor brains.
My doughy wrinkles.
My spider veins.

~ Michael Ryan

The Pure Loneliness

Photo credit: ozden from morguefile.com

Late at night, when you’re so lonely,

your shoulders curl toward the center of your body,

you call no one and you don’t call out.

This is dignity. This is the pure loneliness

that made Christ think he was God.

This is why lunatics smile at their thoughts.

Even the best moment, as you slip

half-a-foot deep into someone you like,

sinks through the loneliness in it

to the loneliness that’s not.

If you believe Christ hanging on the cross,

his arms spread as if to embrace

the Father he calls who is somewhere else,

you still might hear your own voice

at your next great embrace, thinking

loneliness in another can’t be touched,

like Christ’s voice at death answering Himself.

~ Michael Ryan

___________________________________________

Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone.
~ Paul Tillich

The Pure Loneliness

Photo credit: ozden from morguefile.com

Late at night, when you’re so lonely,

your shoulders curl toward the center of your body,

you call no one and you don’t call out.

This is dignity. This is the pure loneliness

that made Christ think he was God.

This is why lunatics smile at their thoughts.

Even the best moment, as you slip

half-a-foot deep into someone you like,

sinks through the loneliness in it

to the loneliness that’s not.

If you believe Christ hanging on the cross,

his arms spread as if to embrace

the Father he calls who is somewhere else,

you still might hear your own voice

at your next great embrace, thinking

loneliness in another can’t be touched,

like Christ’s voice at death answering Himself.

~ Michael Ryan

___________________________________________

Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone.
~ Paul Tillich