Tuesday 22 April 2008

Man in the Moon

The God of death and dreaming
took me where I sleep
that's where you lay me down
lay me down and kept me
pressed down amongst the eider
rumpled, ruffled and closing in on me
holding me for you.
Only you.
That bed of snakes
writhing and wrapped round me
trapped in the comfort
of your delicate arrangement
the room, the snake bed
that place
me.
What comfort that was,
your great orchestration,
playing your favourite instrument
and you knew every chord to play
to get the music you wanted
whilst breaking the minimum of strings.
And all of them mine.
I still remember the whisperings at my ears
lyrics to your melody
my name and other things I liked quite less
but not in the middle of a song
not right, not proper.
So I let myself sink
in the snakes and the eider
and in my eyes
I watch the moonlight
how it dapples and dances
across your shoulder.
I used to rest my head in that shoulder
when I was lost as I find myself now
lost in your embrace.
I would rub it just to have you near,
I would hide there, close my eyes
make the world go away
and be safe.
Devoted, I'd have done anything for you
but not this.
Not the snake not the eider not the dancing.
Devoted to my destruction.
Absolute.
You are metal and you are wound
and I see them both just now poised
inches from my flesh
and I wonder if you would bring them closer
if I could hide once more in that shoulder
feel the heat of you
comfort without snake and eider
without arrangement.
But the world wouldn't go away now
it already has
it is just me, ornate and exposed,
with snake and eider and metal and wound.
Now I must go, not the world.
That cannot be done with you metal and you wound.
With metal and wound the snakes tighten
tying me to the eider grave.
I turn from the dance
to the man in the moon
he shone that silvery light
he danced on your shoulder
and I turn to him.
I smile at him and he smiles back
my eyes glaze over as we talk
he tells me stories tells me songs
of what my life really is
for this isn't it, this isn't real
he reminds me of this and sweeter things
as he watches over me, framed in window.
Finally metal and wound come closer
pressing up tight and asking for entry.
The snakes hold me ready
I muster no resistance
I lay ornate and exposed
white as china, pure as milk.
But milk was not poured for you
you will not drink today.
Instead I grip faster
to the dance on your shoulder.
And, as I am pulled aloft,
bourne by my hold on the moonlight
I still watch the scene through the open window
ornate and arranged twixt the eider
held down by snakes wrapped round and through.
Metal and wound leant over and between
still wishing to taste skin like milk
not meant for him.
And so I ascend
watched by glazed eyes
I see the fear in them
unnoticed by metal and wound
fear of falling.
But I won't fall and glazed eyes need not worry
I am held fast by the man in the moon
safe and strong and ever after.
The man in the moon has taken me as his
He is where I am going
and where I am to be found
Playing all the right notes
Till death do I part.


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Now playing: Newton Faulkner - Gone In The Morning
via FoxyTunes

1 comment:

  1. A very good poem. I find a sort of solice in its resonating words and underlying bittersweet tragedy.
    I particularly enjoyed the way in which you took such a common childhood figure, the man in the moon, and made the central character of your poem revert to this for a comfort not yet found, or lost eternally. This, so subtly but so powerly seems to accentuate the power of oneself, and the mind and heart which reside within all of us.

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