Come on, Ophelia,
Get out of that black car –
Wash off the makeup,
To love you.
Put away the Colt tonight,
It’s not your time –
Play your favourite song
Come on, Ophelia,
It’s perfectly normal –
Touch yourself, kindly;
You never needed
The man you buried.
It was a clear midnight when I saw her
With her parasol stuck in an iron gate
I married her, we died,
But what a life we lived!
I used to dream of being a prolific and famous author.
If I ask myself now, the content of my dreams-
I’d say that I hope to be a thank you or a footnote
In someone else’s book.
This will be my final walk, he said
Pointing to a stone road, painted white;
The cypress guard lined left and right –
A beggar solemnly lowr’ed her head.
The Holy Mother watched us pass
From a marble pedestal, white as well;
Thistles and chamomile waved with the knell
Of the bell for a stranger’s final mass.
What was it like,
Taking a train halfway across the country?
She pondered her answer
In that latent, southern way.
There a lotta trampo-leens in this world.
A man without a country,
A grave without a name,
The broken branch
On the family tree,
He lived and died the same.
Have you ever met someone whose
Name you know immediately is Soul Mate,
A name not only for lovers
But for those you meet that’s you’re
Sure understand your fears on the spot,
And you close your eyes
Thinking back to those bleakest years
Those moments of adolescent hurt, the dark
Places we went to when we were alone, and we were
Always alone, even in a room full of people,
Thinking back to the sounds and songs, the ache-
Being torn apart from the inside out.
When we reached the apogee of the abyss
Shut in our rooms, candles lit- we were
Hoping to die young-enough
And the pain blinded us and in that moment
As our reason shut down our minds opened enough
Just enough to strain to hear a great static,
So we stepped out to stare at the moon and listen closer
To find the static was a frequency and some of us
Turned the knob and fine-tuned
We chose to listen more, and started wandering
Through life, our heads only held up enough for the chance
To spot another soul who might hear the beautiful static
Composed of the sound of a heart breaking, of a song on repeat
Of the spiraling chatter inside our heads that said
We’d never be good enough, of a pen scratching
Against a blank page in our journals, of clock hands ticking
Through the interminable hours we spent alone.
We still look at the moon, and maybe there’s
A million beating hearts out there, all
Looking at the moon, tuning into the frequency, hoping
To hear another like ourselves, to fill that void
To meet someone whose name we know is Soul Mate-
Both of us hear the static and we know each other’s fears
On the spot, and maybe we’ll be friends, maybe
We’ll be lovers, but call me Soul Mate and I’ll do the same.