Your Replacement In This World Does Nothing But Lie Along The Curtain Rail
A poem
Your replacement in this world does nothing but lie along the curtain rail,
and when you finally close your eyes, and gather yourself, it is to walk under the arch that coverts you
Over the gate you go, it already has your finger-grooves
set into the wood. Oh alterable heart, your life weary brain
submits to the tattered bells -
the drawl they make calls you to the fairground,
like a blood pulse in your ears.
And if the carousel horses could speak they would say ‘be mindful of her- the one you left behind’ as you get to the towering accordion
which fits and steams.
It doesn’t play a tune but fathoms it out in the air
Only the best get to see it
And as you set back across the fields where corn husks rise up and shimmer out all the best failures,
you get it in your guts that you must run. Of course you must.
Run to the turret that rejects you,
but when you get there you don’t know what to think
You’ve never been rejected by stone before,
but maybe it teaches you a lesson:
that some things are not worth having,
as it hollers at your sweat leavened back.
Amongst us constancy rests like an ill tied bow that flits from neck to neck.
And it is a world weary thing to admit othering;
to give it a path through the tunnels that envy your solemnity,
your every blessed move.
The arch that covets you calls you back, it is an ill-inspired sound; a giving-up of sorts and a beginning of others.
In the Not-Night-Time this is how things work.
On returning to that space you call home,
the girl languishing along the curtain rail,
who has blighted you many a night, has gone.
And although her absence is like an unwound rigour of bitter-licorice-fear,
she has left a space for you up there in between the creases.
And it is up to you whether or not you take it and do nothing.
It is up to you whether you replace your replacement
with something un-bitten, something un-asked for
it is up to you whether you go up there at all.
