Balconies' Rail Poem by Michael Ó Domhnaill

Balconies' Rail



I



Though I don't know of whose creation,

yours or mine; your image drifts-

the drift of a fresh monstrosity-



Pinned under the ice, the baby

stares you in the face

but doesn't respond



(will howls nonsense)



My abortion can be representative

of a virus

leaning in an open space,

leaning in a hallway; ancient dried

rivulets on the ridged wall

hotel coffin cabin:

A sample of a psyche it

would behoove you to save (or salve)

in accord with the imperatives of convenience.



So atrophied by silicon glow

wrenching that eternal chord,

wishing to sever it painlessly,

You eat phantom air

outside your cave.



Your lungs fill with

nothing.



Your loins fill nothing.



Your loins are filled

by nothing.



The glowing glyphs

sear through nothing

and encroach on the nothing

your mind has become;

your limbs pierced,

your tongue addicted to rot.



II



I've successfully healed

the anguish in my young bones.

The marrow no longer flashes and pops

but dimly glows, an ache unaccustomed.



I recall the soft smoothness of your thighs...

the satin sienna crepe of your skin

for my hands, my essence coiled

ready to be you.



I collect my much vilified

(behind my back replaced)

seed, and my

afflicted by use mental musings

(for your sake)

and will perch on the balcony rail



Perch on the balcony rail

with my hair in my eyes

no glue for my spine

I will perch on the balconies' rail



My voice is amused and alive

It sings to my mind as I dive

Your dark eyes revealed

Your apt lips concealed

Your tears play a fugue unperturbed

as I perch on the balcony rail



I recall the window grate's shadow

on the ceiling as I half slept

It moved with my grief

I writhed bequeathed

to the plunge of that gnostic travail-



The desired become God, god

gone away.

I killed you by desire.

I killed dead imaginings.

I imagine inconsequential inanities

as I dive from the balconies' rail



III



The wind world will howls

and moans grief stricken,

making many rends in

the black canopy.

Her hair black, silken or velvet

once long ago in my eyes...



I bleed from my eyes

The night bleeds from its cries

as my tears touch the balconies' rail



In Berlin and Wien

Brooklyn, Dublin and Venice

I am on the balcony rail.

I am missing.



You wonder what weight I carry

when you meet me at parties.

When you wonder to intently

you make a joke of it.



I am bred with

ornate balconies

starless night

concrete

to insure my future subordination.



Wounded by fickle libidos

and dilettante lovers,

My tainted visions

claw through conscious inanity, thus

tempting me to balconies' rail.



IV



Trailing wire strung blood,

My head anointed with love scent,

My depth unchangeable,

I float through the brisk night air.



At the point of some lucid realization,

(I eye rippleless water below)

My head impacts the concrete ceiling.

Even in annihilation my love I'll never change.

I'm unaccustomed to changing

to make life convenient

for those who pretend to care

while looking from heights, slackjawed,

while staring after gripping white knuckled

(Blue veins bulging

in disbelieving white fists)

The balconies' rail.



V



Love burns entirely

and the sacrificial starlight glints

off the balconies' rail:



Elegies "to a woundhearted boy"



"to a lost soul"



"to a meandering

life"



"to wind scattered

ashes"



"to enzymes ground

in concrete"



"to one last

poem"



"to one missing

poet"



"to a lost lover

without a sepulchre"



"to 'Cordoba to die in' "



My last poem my love

Is graven in starless night.

Now we see those distances.



The universal dark of a dead pupil.

A slovenly Deity

indifferent to the death

of those who are brilliant

despite him.



We must light a candle and

hiss at nothing

from all the balconies' rail.