‘Where Icarus Went’ and other poems
By: S. Philips
Where Icarus Went
Weary winter light Come the rye Think I'll leave this bed Can’t trust it anymore After last night When I was Flat on my back bare face to the ceiling Gravity and cool white sheets Stopping me from falling upwards terrible open space But nothing could stop me From folding in going under Eyelids so thin so tight glowing yellow-green butterflies All I felt pulsing in my ears in my chest through the silence Gone I don’t remember the fall But I remember what I dreamed at impact: Just as it all became too loud rhythm of warning and pulse The world stilled A jagged rock cold roots on the ocean floor turning her face Up towards the sky’s promises I didn’t understand why she ignored the glittering sea Blue mother Icarus fallen but finally satisfied I didn’t understand Until I saw the shapes in the water listened to their song They told me to dive into the cold forget and find final stillness Almost did
The happy Have stumbled upon a silence Delicious vacuum In which the blistered graying throats And their screams For attainment – for stillness – Are strangled By a man with a soothing hand As he whispers them to blackness. Only in this silence can they know Know what to work for For the world, eternally unknown And, thus, wonderful - We will never confirm otherwise - Must yield to quiet Before it pours itself before them. Dream of childhood Because the little ones know Know how to free him From his warm murderer’s cell With crafted stories Stories which they know Know they must live through To their conclusions. And he is satisfied. Next. On this early suburban evening I can dull the dullness Of a strange body that used to play By making its joints burn. Fat gathers on my hips, in my heart. I anchor myself at my oak-scented desk And let the arms of my leather chair bind me. I hide, far away from the terrible flow And thank the walls for my blindness, freed Grateful that the Man Doctor Killer Had a little time to spare For me.
To be clean
Warm coffee on the road makes me sick Dark ashen asphalt, murky brown drink Foul-smelling fuel But it’s the only way I can get To where I’m going Maybe there I’ll finally be free to wash myself Clean And forget – gift to the last horizon All that I’ve consumed (Another hope: My rabid red consumption Feels justified, sometimes – Drunk on my certitude – When I think about how the entropy Consumes me too And some say Drunken words are true)