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Driven to Distraction in Four
Movements
F.X. MacKenzie A happening, a gathering, a Thing that I forgot She decorates and hurries Oblivious thorn in her side, I am, But the flowers are lovely "It looks just like a funeral," I say (Was that the wrong thing? A wedding instead?) I forget. I am about to be distracted Among the lilies and lights You appear The room spins one way, my head another This is not the disorientation of senility But bewitchment I am driving Why am I driving? Where are we going? I could drive this road with one hand tied behind my back (I know it like the back of my other hand, you see) But let us stop here and breathe together Breathe with me Breathe for me Breathe life into me If you can Heaven knows I would stop breathing for you I did not know it was Or maybe I did and forgot (I do that) I saw that the gallery was an old lover's apartment Resurrected, restored and remarked in her absence She became offended at my discretion And though she said nothing Her eyes chastised me for this Reconstruction of relations And now you stand before me Speaking urgently of things I don't follow Dark hair, lily skin, indigo mood I would drown myself in your depths My eyes understand you but My ears are deaf You have short-circuited the battery to my brain With your rage and reason And just when I catch words that seem to make sense Like Eliot's women you sigh in despair Muttering, "That is not it, that is not it at all." And I wake to your mother's knock on the door A wedding or a funeral? I forgot. I do that. (Breathe with me Heaven knows I'd stop breathing for you.) © Copyright 2004 by F.X. MacKenzie |