ash-ghosts of the finest velvet place their bets after the last game of the day has been forfeited
August 21, 2009
all our masks were different at the end.
we thought we’d take them off
one day. we dreamed of it, fantasized.
endlessly, ceaselessly. endlessly.
ceaselessly.
she and i wore facepaint. i was a clown
and she was a warrior, scowling and willing.
she was a warrior, scowling. i made her laugh
and she kept me safe, and we kept each other sane
through the end days.
we hid alone in a room
through the end days. kissing and laughing
pretending the news wasn’t true, pretending
the news wasn’t true because it simply
wasn’t news.
she and i got off on technicalities, she and i
strung each other through loopholes and whispered,
isn’t this erotic, sweetheart?
isn’t this erotic?
sweetheart.
the animals changed, like they were supposed to, but we
never did, we never changed, we stayed inside
and we stayed so safe that it seemed
things had always been this way. things would always be this way.
it’s easy, you know, to lose track of the days
lose track of the end days
lose track
what’s a day?
we became three, without warning, and two of us realized:
we had lost track of the days.
fix things before they’re too late.
fix things before they’re too late
like she asked, with those eyes
and i couldn’t
say no.
i thought only once, and that was to say yes.
without her, it is one endless day. there are none left
to keep track of, now.
all the days are the same now.
all of my days are the same.
but the last word she spoke was my name
and i’ll see her again at my end.
ash-ghosts of the finest velvet place their bets after the last game of the day has been forfeited by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
weakness sucks dry the bones of conversation
leaving us
hollow and empty, each still needing the other’s skeleton
we share a good laugh now and then
i guess, but
never
at the biggest joke.
there’s something to be said for
intimacy with borders. we
have
become
cartographers, etching out our
boundaries
deciding
instead of discovering. our ink is
the atmosphere of bitten lips, discomfort manifest
and tangible. we write on what we call new slates, but
the pencil marks erased
are still visible.
open-ended outlines, or the skeletal cartographers map out the present by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
obstacles on aimless wanderings
July 8, 2009
i wasn’t going anywhere
when she came along with a mouthful of lies
to sate her spiteful vengeance
toward me for something i never meant to do–
though if i’d known i was doing it, i’d still have
said the same thing.
for i’m a liar, too.
i wasn’t going anywhere
when he came along with his admirable attire
to match what i desired, in an outfit.
and i went absolutely nowhere when i learned
what lived inside it. a liar and a thief, a
domino.
i wasn’t going anywhere
when he showed up again
and sunk his claws into my back
and i thought i liked the piercing, but
when you’re trying to be hopeful, anything
touching your heart feels good, even
when it’s something black and deadly, like a
snake, a creature harmless enough, so long as
you leave the ones with poison in their fangs
alone in the desert or the forest.
what could i do when the snake chased me down?
hunted me, made me prey?
made me pray?
made me.
that’s all that he was. i thought those fangs
were the claws of a dragon.
i wasn’t going anywhere
when he showed up to make it worse
living in close quarters and
talking smack about me to anyone with ears.
i never did understand who he was so
jealous of, to talk of me in such a manner.
after all, hadn’t i tried to be the most hospitable to him in
his time of need?
i guess it doesn’t matter when
lashing out is all you’re capable of.
i certainly felt the whip.
i was trying so hard to get to where i wanted to be
when
block
she was mostly sorry about
her inability to talk, as though
her whole mind had been glued shut
to keep everything quiet.
obstacles on aimless wanderings by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
015: the loneliness of broken trees in winter, or the summer sun pines for those it’s blinded
July 4, 2009
when the summer comes and you think you’re out of love, and the sunshine is too bright and you find you’re so light-sensitive that you
blind your own eyes with walls
what will you do when the winter arrives, cold and desolate and begging for company? the snow falls
just for you now, the snow falls just for you, and though you can’t see the frozen trees they’re breaking for your promises, they’re
taking all your blame and pain, remembering what summer looked like, before you built your walls too high for them to reach their
branches over.
when the autumn comes and you can focus again on the crunch of the leaves under your shoes, you’ll remember, maybe, and see again.
the loneliness of broken trees in winter, or the summer sun pines for those it’s blinded by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
we made love in the salt caves
one year on her birthday
she said she loved the salt taste and
the way i said her name
we met on the subway
la la la
la la la
la la la
la
la.
she ended on the interstate
always afraid of being late
i guess she figured that way
she’d always be on time.
so i stand here at the world’s end
and wonder if she’ll see me again
maybe when we end this time
she’ll let me call her mine.
overtones ⚪
salt mine.
a complicated pair and musings on their brief separation by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
013: imagination: paraplegic
June 24, 2009
a silly little drawing
accompanied
by a few silly little words
with a silly little meaning
begging to be heard
i’m serious, you know, please
take me as i am, please
try to understand, please
take me as i am.
she apologizes for the cliche
acknowledges the crutch
accentuates the free way
and keeps a loose-held clutch
on words.
so she doesn’t see, you see, what we see
when silly little drawings
accompanied
by a few silly little words
with tinny little voices
begging to be–
imagination: paraplegic by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
mr yamagashi understands that the scent of hospitals
will never leave his mind, even when
the flowers mrs yamagashi loved so much bloom
in the garden he pays someone to keep. it isn’t
as beautiful as it was Before, but she asked him
to watch over it as though it were his own
so he does his best.
he knows the word is sterile, but to him
it’s bittersweet, a scent he would associate with
almonds, or maybe mrs yamagashi’s baking–
not the finished result on the table, but the
flour and the raw ingredients, her apron still dusty
when he came home at exactly five fifteen. the hospital
was a bad time, but he was grateful anyway, because
that time, at least, he got to say goodbye.
he wasn’t awake when she left, either, but
he and the machines were the first to know.
overtones ⚪
continuation of mr yamagashi set
totally not sad house scenes (i’m lying)
the faithful continued working of mr yamagashi and the machines by Levi Hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
my life is full of narrow corners
shopping malls and
bathroom stalls and
buses
narrow, wide and long
window seats and scenic views
i don’t suppose that you
could tell me where i’m going, mister?
a woman’s body: casing for a small girl singing for her supper by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
010; a question put to a witch’s warlock
March 30, 2009
a clock ’round which the numbers turn
a city, and in the middle burns
a person: the hierarchy
topples, secure again.
another scream, another day
another bad decision made
another bed lonely again
to face the coming dawn
will it never change?
perhaps, and not. keep
a smiling face on, even
just a smirk, if need be.
never
let the bastards get you down.
the clock is ticking for you now
they might be coming for you, how
will they find you?
overtones ⚪
witch-hunts and the warlocks left behind.
a question put to a witch’s warlock by levi hatle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
