For Armine

What year is it behind your eyes?

Is your face still young

Still in time

Like a photograph in the back room

Of a hoarder’s upper west side apartment?

Last time I saw you

Your skin was so white

Not even the precision of the makeup artist’s

Brush could hide that blank canvass

where your pigment was lifted.

It was like bleached coral.

Pigment is detail

the eloquence of those continents which you escaped
and shook off into the Coney Island waters

and into the silent screen

during your first double feature.


Do you remember your final farewell to those Polish
nights of your birth?

As you lay there

Silent,

The boldness of your voice which permeated every other room

You were ever in

was gone

it was an amputation

like severed flowers

wilting

Somewhere in the back of your throat

But

they

are no longer connected to the body.

The body,

Is all that remains

When the check is due

Like a rent demand under

Your

Door

before ruin sets in.

The eyes become dead cameras.

The ears become disconnected PA systems.

But when you live in your head

The years all spent

And litter the mind

Like empty bottles in a

Recluse’s living room,

Then gravity never has to

Caress your voice

The one which has been stolen

For too long

Like a preying mantis sizing up her lover

Before devouring him

After his last act of purpose.

Gravity is what left your mouth an empty cave

Where even blind catfish will never call a natural home.

Everything you know survives between the sheets
and memories shatter with the most delicate touch.

What is your name

Behind those drawn shades

that hides you from the waking world?

Is it necessary

Or does that name become a dead limb?

Now that you’ve reached the tundra

Where there are no more compromises

And all absolutes swallow their own tails

In this

The seasons of your passing

Where memories grow pale

Thin and delicate

Before the final thought is dissolved

Like a single piece of paper in the middle of a storm

during

closing night

Of

Your

show.

Comments 3 comments

Shyron E Shenko profile image

Shyron E Shenko 2 years ago

maab30, words of a true poet, spoken with an understand heart.

Voted up


Shyron E Shenko profile image

Shyron E Shenko 2 years ago

Maab30, I came back to re-read this classic poem.

Voted up, ABI and shared.


maab30 profile image

maab30 2 years ago from News And Art From The Left Author

Hey Shyron:

Thanks so much for the kind words.

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