st...st...stutter
naz turned me on to a man named bon iver only just recently, saying he wanted to avoid the initial hype. i was introduced to him three days ago, and now i’m hooked.
this morning, i turned on “skinny love” and “the wolves” and “blindsided” (ok, so really every track is a gem), and i felt inspired to write. and when i say “write,” i mean some poetic prose or verse, the type of scribble that inundated my journals and hard drives back in college, and not the random reflections i write today. but when i opened a text document to start “writing,” the same drivel that i was known to produce came out.
so instead, i dug up a piece from 2001 or thereabouts that i honestly believe, to this day, is one of the better specimen. but, i couldn’t tell you who i was thinking about or what ordeal i was “suffering” from when i wrote it.
suppose i fell victim to lies and disregard
and petitioned my own deceptive rage?
to blame the likes of you would be certain,
and yes, iron walls come crashing down.
but behind I hear faint stutters, too blatant,
that prove me to be true.
companions as we shan’t cower in fear
from exposing thin skins—
bounding in lies proves a sheer netting.
makes for soon departures
the exchange of caresses done with no hesitation,
though ignorance pervades to a simple question.
i suppose your loves are brought to you by wind
blown in from the sea, only to wander back again.
make no mistake, others are sure to follow
to keep your ration steady.
i rank not myself with other such fleeting affairs
and shame on me for trying to stifle
your belittlement of faiths so true.
doubts remain of faiths to you
and more certainly yours to mine
masking innocence with devious endeavours
and playing parts of villainous creatures—
all too easy with abandon of values instilled—
used only in revenge,
though its potency will go undetected.
to continue the façade will lead only
to early demise
and i already know it is unfitting.
the beast does not come when i call, so
perhaps trickery will be left to you.