portrait (the only space I have)
- q.m.noakhtar
as far as phantoms go
you are the epitome.
translucent and existent in distant photographs
i almost can't recall.
your lips are the shade of ghosts;
only your eyes sometimes speak to me.
your voice is a distant murmur-
like sitting out at night and hoping to hear the stars whimper
or the alien-mumbling of 3 am radio band hosts.
an empty paddock
a perfect auricle of an ear
sometimes when i tap keys or hold pens
i feel your fingers in advance
a premonition.
as far as phantoms go
you haunt too.
i remember the word green from a letter you wrote;
and i'd forgotten that i love rain because you taught me to.
i can't discuss your meaning,
you are a mime to me,
a silent-movie character escaped
a silhouette of yesterday
the residue of pasts and memories and hopes.dreams.futures
lost and traded and abandoned and distorted and hurt and bruised
and weakened and beat to a pulp and won and saved and flown to find
hands to hold and redeemed.
the condensation of seconds-
the surplus of my soul i cannot secure within me-
you sip the top of my cup.
the voyeur perhaps.
the echo
the click that ends days and starts seasons
the colour grey of rained-on cement
songs about trains
- collisions
- space-odyssey's
- all the fear that binds men
songs about winter
- the rattles of glass
- the Morse code of rain drops
as it spells out
all a man might need to know.
i picked up pen for the first time to draw you.
i failed then and i fail now.
i dreamed once of death,
i fell and floated in the tallest grass.
i left and had no where to go
hurry, your train's leaving.left
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