Wednesday, April 23, 2014

My Vincent Warren Period

My Vincent Warren Period
by Prudence Chamberlain

I feel joyfully
in the mornings
& I make coffee
am not hung over
open my laptop
to begin again
with poems
almost a lady lazarus
of 9am but less
internal rhyme
& a little less feeling

It’s like that time I joined
the Labour Party & ignored
all of their e-mails until
a local representative turned
up on the door step
like some dispossessed
disenfranchised ideology in a
sad greying suit

I had a paintbrush in my hand; ripped trousers;
sometimes I’m so butch & so great & had been
painting a wall
but I see myself reflected
in the eyes of others & I know I’m O’Hara
fairy not Myles urban gunslinger

since I’ve met you
I can’t stop for writing
& this better not be
my Vincent Warren period

where you go off to Canada
leave me with an ugly STI
& my death is imminent
& if we’re honest you’re
not the beauty of the Bolshoi ballet in a body
but there’s something in the fragile
between that obvious collar bone &
the line of your shirt that subtlety of
masculine I love all the way through
your jaw line

we’re all such straight lines aren’t we?
The way we fall & fuck & think

So I dance to show tunes all the way across
my bed which is paisley & made
& think about my ineffectual political subjectivities

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