The night I -almost- broke your guitar

Nothing happened really.
It’s still there, like all the crystal
glasses we never smashed
in celebration of pure love.
Strings just trembled
and lost their tune,
as it fell on the floor
with the sound of a weak soul.
The silence that followed,
its wooden ribcage
filled with black air,
ressembled mine
as I tried to forget you.
These days when I wanted
to leave you, replace you,
and eventually lose you.
Except that I never reached
that feeling
others call forgetting.
My room stays lit up all night,
I let the curtains beat in the wind
and bring back that melody
you composed for me.
That one nothing will eclipse
ever, not even Bach
not even a choir
of hysterical angels.
It seems breaking
has an element of blank,
it can’t separate my pulse
from yours, the way
I couldn’t shatter
that instrument to pieces.
After all,
there is a little joy in all,
knowing physical laws
can always betray us.

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Dark Matter

I wish my sight was adjusted to the dark,
to this universe as black as ink
so at home in being deathlike.
This excess of night
bruises for too long,
and no one can bear it :
it’s too unviolable for us.
We can only dream it was a body,
to strap it to a table with metal bands,
blind it with its own stars
and listen to its heart and lungs.
It’s all we can do, dream,
while listening, helpless,
to all things disappearing.
Whenever we touch
smile or bleed,
whenever we laugh,
spilling all over beds and floors
the envied heat of our hearts,
this obscure body, this wound,
wants us.
Its pulse is like a voice
isolated in the night,
we keep it on tape and listen to it
as if it had existed before life.
It sings of an intimacy
we lived in long ago
the one I lived in,
the one you lived in,
the one we all lust after.
I don’t know if that melody
should please us,
it rings over, never-achieved,
and leaves an aftertaste of solitude
even God did not expect.

A Fever

She was here, in the mirror,
stark naked, she came knowing
the injuries of obsession.
Beasts drank from her palms
as she lay down on your bed.
Her pale body had become
a living denial of reason,
a bare wave unfolding
in the tiny green planets of your eyes.

You tried to contain desire
in your simple hands, when all was dark
and no limits defined.
At dawn, her heart slept under your feet
while your own exceeded you.
The beasts licked their teeth,
waiting for something red to eat.
If someone offered to save you
you wouldn’t have known what it meant.

Years after, you wish you could say
it’s all over. But it ended so many times
before, these words got emptier
and emptier. She always returned.
You turned back even more.
Now the beasts seek a pretext for being,
they are lost, they don’t understand.
Life was more real
the days you couldn’t touch the ground.
The sky has lost its pure arterial blue.

Interview / Hypocrite Design magazine

http://www.hypocritedesign.com/project/interview-with-karen-mary/

Dysfunctional Healer

Your last kiss
left a broken wing
between my thighs.
Strangely,
it never stops beating.
It’s like an unending
fleeing of flesh.
Only the rain battering
the land between us
dispossess me equally.
Listening to music
makes no sense anymore,
every song is a red ticking
echoing inside,
not a clear blue wind
washing the hours away.
Breathing has shaped
you into root
and left me
with a dislodged heart.
Maybe
I’m time’s only toy.
Maybe that’s why
it keeps playing
the same trick
though I’m already apart.
“It will pass” is what
you said about this love.
Of all the lies
you said over the phone,
this one was the first.
You remember,
don’t you ?
The sound of the little trumpet
of death.
You shared the delusion of angels,
these poor unbleeding
things.
Among the spiraling bodies,
this love is as red as a mapple leaf,
redder, even.
Doom cannot recognize it,
all absorbed as it is
in ending the living
with a dot.
But me, I do,
It’s mine