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Open Poetry #48
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soul drifter
Senior Member
since 2004-09-08
Posts 711
Colorado

0 posted 2012-04-06 03:10 PM


The Girl with Headphones on Sitting in The Coffee Shop Reading 'The Bell Jar'

Maroon and black and brown -
the nightfall colors that mix in scents I forgot I loved
coffee and/or tea that burns lips,
warms the throat, shimmering down
fill the darkened air with possibilities of human connection
Beethoven's 'Archduke Trio' glistens away,
begging sacred entrance into my not-quite perked ears,
as my nose is glued to typeset words of Langston Hughes
but it seems my eyes would rather scrape off the page
and attach to the lightness sharing this rained-out Saturday,
in the shape of a girl I must have invented,
else why should she shape so well my longing tides
barraging nightly in shreds of seconds on my wooden doors
there, the girl with the headphones on, sitting in the coffee shop,
reading 'The Bell Jar', she wears a noncommittal half-smile,
yet she remains so unaware of the effect she has
spreading out like pretty pools of blood to seep
into pores I thought were so bereft, so empty
and I carry a carved scarlet heart for just these situations
poetic, idiotic and hopeless it pounds out like stellar phenomena
her ears I think are closed to such obnoxious noise my insides make
so careless to think for a second that my rumbles are for her,
not at all knowing the parameters of my simple, decaying orbit
to crash in dull but spectacular loneliness into the sea
can she not see
the curious flow of untouched moments that pass
with my eyes plastered on her, not at all subtly,
continually she scans Sylvia Plath's madness to deposit inside,
in the bubble of her own world, she won't let any point snap
the tension cord strung out like Sherlock Holmes losing himself
in opium dens on foggy London nights, numbed by liquid so colorless
and the case is still just freshly picked English poppies in his mind
where was I going with this?
Probably into introspective mutterings I spread on papers
slid under doorways I pretend every day
I pretend, yes, but I'm just a purple bruise
and oh the girl with headphones on, sitting in the coffee shop,
reading 'The Bell Jar'
I can finally admit to myself, brittle seconds later,
that her grace will never brush up against my lack thereof
but as I get up to leave...
and so the music gets a little louder...

All the graves of poets in all the world
have imbued me with their leftover heavy air,
to help me breathe through this unreal,
golden-throated moment in time.

"I will hang on the hook of your splendor" -Snow Patrol, 'Dark Roman Wine'

© Copyright 2012 Zach Hilgefort - All Rights Reserved
JamesMichael
Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336
Kapolei, Hawaii, USA
1 posted 2012-04-07 12:39 PM


Enjoyed...James
Klassy Lassy
Member Elite
since 2005-06-28
Posts 2187
Oregon
2 posted 2012-04-07 03:52 AM


A marvelously entertaining and descriptive piece of writing. I'd say that girl knocked your socks off.  Gotta be careful about running around in coffee shops with no shoes.  heheh  I love the references to Sherlock Holmes.  He was always checking things out, too.  I never could get into Sylvia Plath's poetry, though. Yours I like very much!
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