Sunday, September 03, 2006

9.03.06, A Sonnet from Fragility

“Life, the Crash Course Version”

Death opens vistas through its immanence. Widened
Vision and broadened possibility both result from the horror
Of the approach, the horror. Every possibility existing gossamer,
Hanging by delicate threads of if, comes to the fore of when

Pain’s freedom is finally achieved. The ambivalent joy is where
In the eye-opened crash course for life, life until death is no more
Fast on silent shoes of black patent leather across a floor
Swept clean by silence? The daily expectancy is where,

In dodging nausea, neuropathy, constipation, diarrhea, and more
The localized general pain, incessant & unseen like a cancer,
Stop a step short of simile — as cancer without “like” is interred,
Buried in the belly of everything you could have become before

Your horizon expanded to reach anything, yet restricted to the now?
Dream your fullest desire your everything, just do it fast somehow.

* * *

If there is going to be a Franky Scale I'm going to think about it some more. Even at this time of day it hasn't been long enough to say well. And sometimes it gets tiring constantly taking one's temperature.

2 comments:

Slarry said...

Dear Scott:

A few sentences, a comment on your Sonnet From Fragility.

Initially, as always, whenever I read and attempt to digest your raw, honest
painful, heartfelt, yet eloquent words, my eyes well up with tears as the thought of
losing you remains a constant unimaginable and unbearable reality.


I appreciate your generous sharing of self, of the now, and how much I revere
and respect your ability to create such poetry, especially and even now---
knowing that you have these fragile moments and feelings of loss of time, of life.
Time and the fulfillment of your dreams, the cancer that robs you of your time, time
that you are so deserving of, makes my heart ache as it breaks a little more everyday.

And yet, I love this poem, even with the pain that it brings.

When did you write this particular poem, what prompted its creation?
And then, how do you take it from your brilliant and beautiful mind and heart
and put it onto paper? I don’t even know if those questions are too personal
to ask in a comment or if I should be writing something like that in an e-mail...
You tell me. Your work has always amazed me and this piece in particular made me wonder about the where and how of it. I guess that is why you are the poet, the writer.
No one else’s words move, inspire and impact me the way yours do.
I know you think that I am biased when it comes to your writing and creating---
but even you must know, that this particular Sonnet is incomparable, one of your
clearest, deepest and best.

Thank you for sharing your feeling and thoughts-- your words. Allowing
me and the countless others who grieve the imminent loss of you.
People who don’t even know you, the nameless, faceless “others” who are going through the similar tragedy of having their life cut short and the people who love them will also read your words. You have created something that will be available for them to read and it will bring them comfort even as it brings them pain.
Knowing that they are not alone in their sadness and how the word and concept of “time” and loss have taken on much greater meaning.

Thank you for that. But more, I thank you for you.
I love you like I always have-- unconditionally and with infinite numbers---

Sheri

wormwood said...

I come to this blog daily. eyes widened, blinking slowly. poor posture, and slowly exhaling. I should use my residual lung space.

The space between "Leave your comment" and "kydaqn" contains alot of silence and nonsense thought before the space is filled.

And it seems the space is envitably filled with nonsense drivel, mainly because I dont know what to say but have always treasured interaction with you.