I wrote this over Whatsapp, which is the worst focused-writing app ever devised. Every line of the poem was sent as a standalone text message, unedited and unadorned. I am sure this is visible. You may feel the rough edges and fallacies on your palate, reader. You will feel them, when you walk around a ruined and infested fountain, weeping and cursing and thinking of the dead.
Her voice was the swirling sky,
and her eyes were starry nights.
Her story was a fantastic lie,
and she showed me love atop the Golan Heights.
She turned over and sighed,
and turned out the lights.
My voice was rocky ground, with shattered bone,
I found my mind with a bloodhound,
She picked me up unwound the knots,
in the back of my mind.
I may really have lied,
I betray my own kind.
None of this is mine.
None of this is owned.
And then I asked her, among the works of days and hands,
what sins and sorrows
had led her to find my outstretched hand.
She said, she had told a lie, sold exotic furs,
lied and cheated, hurled a curse
and land and land and land.
The sea is open, and I am free.
At the helm of my destiny.
Alone, and I ignore the shore.
A lone tree beckons, and I murmur
"Not today. I must tender to a festering sore.
I must take care of the herd. I must write down
the truths that I have heard"
"I must walk among the the crowds, and speak in a voice of thunder
I must walk with kings and gods,
and tear nations asunder.
I must be cold with hate,
and I must tender to my grudges
It must not get too late, I cannot wait for spring bloom or golden midges.
And then she called, and I followed.
I grew old, and my living room halls
were legend, hallowed.
I sold the sea, and blotted out the sun.
Set the price of tea, and shook gunpowder
out of gun.
I bought this happy isle, under a swirling sky.
Recanted all my lies, and lay there with her.
there to die.