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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476621" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Circumnavigated My Eyes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I circumnavigated my eyes <br>to wash these ashen rags of grief off <br>like the torn sails of the Magellanic Clouds. <br>I knew how deeply I was lost <br>when I set my starmaps afire <br>because they got in the way of the shining, <br>to give them a first hand experience <br>of lighting things up for themselves<br>like arsonists playing with draconian desire. <br>Took me years to get the last shadow <br>of your misdirected spearhead out of my heart, <br>make white noise out of the snarling chainsaw <br>that accompanied you like a seeing-eye dog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At first the intensity of the pain<br>clued me forensically into thinking <br>the sheer immensity of your crime of passion, <br>the number of times you stabbed me through the heart <br>meant you loved me more than you cared to let on <br>but then I noticed all your knives were smiling<br>like scalpels that had just blooded the moon in my eyes<br>and I could see the savage delight <br>you took in my Orphic dismemberment<br>like an artist in a surgical theatre of vivisected hearts. <br>Incisions I'll remember for the rest of my life <br>like paper cuts from a black belt in loveletters.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I forgave what I could and deliberately <br>misunderstood the rest to let you pass<br>without being noticed by the demonic lighthouses <br>that kept watch along the coast like candles <br>at a black mass for a continental shift in perspective. <br>I think I was still half in love with you <br>when I was assessing the drift of our separation <br>in light years, and the grief, at times, when it didn't seem <br>potentially lethal, was almost suicidally beautiful, <br>but as my afterlives dragged on like retrogressive epicycles, <br>as you did when you pulled the stars out by their roots, <br>I let the garden return to the wild <br>and laid out a defensive position of black holes <br>the dead who once bloomed here <br>never need worry about being exhumed from. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I remember standing on the trajectory of a bridge <br>throwing the bones of my body parts off <br>like the pages of a calendar scored by a sword <br>in a cutting edge experiment with oviparous clones<br>born like mystic comas from spiritual replications <br>of the same cosmic egg you could never break out of <br>even after I defused myself like the supernova <br>of an unexploded terrorist who was once wired to you <br>like the memory of an old risk that wasn't worth the cause<br>or the collateral damage it would have done <br>to the startled innocence of the bystanding stars, <br>not to mention the traumatic disheartening of the sun<br>in having to realign its shining with midnight<br>like a firefly in a dream on a flowerless, terminal ward.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You were the anti-enlightenment that occluded my identity <br>as if I'd never been there in the first place, <br>and that would have been fine, I would have <br>happily lived for you as a better lost cause <br>than the one I was waging like an unholy war of one. <br>I would have burned in my inexhaustible solitude <br>like a discipline of devotion refining my passion for you <br>into a sword worth falling upon in the name of your integrity.<br>It would have been a privilege, a tribute, a blessing <br>to have had you there to give it all up to, <br>knowing you can never lose what you freely give away, <br>to get behind your dream like a demonically fulfilled familiar.<br>Capo, and consigliere, but the power went to your ego, <br>forgetting that arrogance makes you unguardedly stupid <br>and stupid will get you killed faster than evil, <br>but you didn't need my advice to assist you with that. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not to be. That's the last plea of exoneration<br>from people who don't know the damage<br>they've done to each other without even trying to. <br>The inert delusions of neon gas that highlights <br>the stations of the heart where we stopped<br>along the way for a garish night <br>of PyschoBabylonic heartbreak gone berserk<br>and solar flares ionized the gun-metal, electrical fragrance <br>of flowers going supernova in space as if <br>they were ripping the veils and spiderwebs off <br>the gutter wisdom of the upper atmosphere gone slumming.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even if I didn't need to, from playful firefly <br>to dragon sage with dusky yellow blood, <br>I would have transmogrified myself for you, <br>an oracular shapeshifter delighted to accommodate<br>the most delicate lineaments of protozoic desire<br>to keep you from bottoming out like the Burgess Shale <br>into a motile labyrinth of genetic cul de sacs<br>waiting for your traffic jam to turn green again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not to be. The gavel of whose will? <br>The officious seal of whose blood? <br>Better to be loved than righteous, feast the heart<br>among friends and lovers rather than <br>nibble on the bitter weeds of your isolated sanctimony.<br>You were always trying to salvage <br>perfection from its flaws, dehumanize it somehow <br>into nanodiamonds you wanted to genetically replicate. <br>Pollen of crystal flowers in a menagerie of bees <br>that turned their hive into a kiln of glass honey<br>that shattered like tears at your feet when you wept.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who isn't an approximation of the person <br>they hoped to achieve, who isn't the fraud <br>of their own accomplishment, more disbelieving <br>in themselves than those who applaud with envy <br>the strawdog that gets thrown on the fire <br>after it's served a ritual purpose no one <br>quite understands? Hard to find a rose in the wild <br>that isn't supple and pudgy, blighted and marred, <br>soiled by life, armed and scarred, dust on its leaves. <br>You wanted to excise the imperfections <br>as if you were editing my emotional life.<br>I was always the diamond in the rough <br>you were going to send like a foolish jewel <br>to a multi-faceted finishing school <br>where they scrubbed your ancestry out of you <br>like bituminous coal off your immaculate, adamantine record. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trouble is when you let that happen <br>you're not rooted in life anymore, <br>you scrape the poetry of living <br>from out under the moon's fingernails.<br>And there's no way you can plough a mirror <br>and throw a seed in it and expect it to sprout<br>however you exalt and weep over it. <br>Life may be a black hole, <br>but it's not an infertile ditch<br>of mercury trying to pass <br>for a thread of silver in the moonlight<br>through the eye of a needle wider than the Hubble<br>popping bubbles like worlds in the multiverse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I offered you dragons, but you wanted me to be <br>a hyena with great table manners whenever <br>we were eating the leftovers of a lion <br>at your mother's place, and I was always <br>the savage you picked on to say grace<br>as if the words would somehow burn in my mouth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I suppose I could have been seated <br>at the appropriate place at the table below the salt<br>and not eaten before those you considered alpha dogs did, <br>and torn my share of meat from the spoils<br>of the psychological leg-hold traps set for everyone, <br>and honed my night vision to take down <br>an albino baby rhino on a National Geographic documentary <br>to reveal that scavengers know how to hunt on the sly<br>nocturnally. Maybe you would have seen me <br>in a different light, maybe it would have become <br>easier in time to become what you had in mind for me <br>but I can shift hearts and minds as easily as forms<br>and when I assumed I was you for a moment <br>I could see, after the hyena, you had me <br>lined up like a chimpanzee in a cage <br>with needles taped to my shaved head <br>as I expired in my solitude like visiting hours <br>with pain the only nurse on the night shift<br>working over time in the lab of a perfumery <br>to make the abattoir you made of the roses <br>I used to bring you, smell more like blood than flowers.<br> <br>And that's when my sense of empathy <br>began to grow eyelids so I could turn it off at night <br>to identify with the dream figures <br>that didn't wake up with me when I did<br>and I began to evolve an affectionate sensitivity <br>to the exquisite features of compassion inherent <br>in painting life masks on the emptiness <br>to amuse my own inconceivable sensibilities.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476621" data-title="I Circumnavigated My Eyes de Patrick White" data-description="I circumnavigated my eyes 
to wash these ashen rags of grief off 
like the torn sails of the Magellanic Clouds. 
I knew how deeply I was lost 
when I set my starmaps afire 
because they got in the way of the shining, 
to give them a first hand exp..."></div>
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