Meaning in the eyes of another
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Trapped
Your world went on as fated. All actions pre-ordained. Each wry rebuke, clenched fist, submission observed by you with shame.
Yet you watched on.
Your face mirrored blankness to pass through crowds unseen. Your hand opened rarely to let burnt-red sun transform flesh to blade. Your eyes closed too briefly for the respite you craved. All movements as directed in our civil cosmic play.
The thoughts were yours too late. Orange-red loops of anger. Blue-grey spirals coiled by sight. Forced to witness these acts.
I saw you staring. The you who I have dreamed. The one who I will marry.
Though your acts will all be destined, as mine have been since birth, and I will never know the savage current’s depth
“everything is teetering on the edge of everything / With a polite smile.” Walking the Black Cat
“Everyone thinks of us like that: mouths full of blood, and we want to talk.’” Zinky Boys
“If you were smiling, what would that tell him about your composure in his imagination.” Citizen
“Why can’t the modern writers stick to the old simple wholesome themes - such as, for example, boys.” A Single Man
“didn’t mean the word performance in opposition to “the real”; I’ve never been interested in any sort of con. Of course there exist people who perform intimacy in ways that are fraudulent or narcissistic or dangerous or steamrolling or creepy, but that’s not the kind of performance that I meant, or the kind I mean. I mean writing that dramatizes the ways in which we are for another or by virtue of another, not in a single instance, but from the start and always.” The Argonauts
To see the connections, open the site below.
