It's just poetry, it won't bite

The saint girl child


10.19.18 Posted in today's words by

T.S. Hidalgo’s most recent poem to appear here was “Love will save the day” (February 2018)

The saint girl child
By T.S. Hidalgo

Because then her life seemed something else and today she’s stronger and more now (or not). It was in Damascus, and it seemed like something else. Her life seemed like something else. Belle de Jour. Her life seemed like something else. Belle de Jour. And miles of damask. Different . . . oh! . . . from those brutally honest houses, now, made of sheet metal and paint. It seemed like something else. Her life seemed like something else. Time, today, her, in this post-Pericles Athens, doing nothing: or to believe in Christ (?) or in Longfellow, both dead*. Let’s walk, with their people, through the desert: It might be a solution. But the possibility hasn’t been considered yet (or the logistics are still scarce). “You came to leave a bottle of champagne. As a welcome gift! Are you taking, perhaps, all sorts of pills in secret?” she. “We come from the world of extreme competition,” we, volunteers of all globes. “. . .” “But I know we should talk about this door,” announces one, and I think that it is me who then says or thinks, “Rightrightright . . . ” “You understand now why I need to go back to dressing goth,” she again. A lot of details are missing from this script. Today all the cold you want is within reach. Thought turns around its own vortex and time dissolves. This thought is actually accompanied by another. (and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and) There is an invisible thread still tying us together: there always will be between all of us them she, connection, relationships: we believe, yes, in the invisible, and time dissolves, while I thread, 3,000 to the northeast, in this coffee shop (land taken from the sea!), backlit symmetries. It seemed like something else.

Her life seemed like something else.



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