Open Poetry #48 |
The Girl with Headphones on Sitting in The Coffee Shop Reading 'The Bell Jar' |
soul drifter Senior Member
since 2004-09-08
Posts 711Colorado |
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' |
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© Copyright 2012 Zach Hilgefort - All Rights Reserved | |||
JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Enjoyed...James |
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Klassy Lassy Member Elite
since 2005-06-28
Posts 2187Oregon |
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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