Stay: A Memoir of Disillusionment- Annie
A seething dragon of vapour
Rising from the vermillion shadow cast on the coffee cup
I move my hand through the wisps almost in a stupor
I feel no warmth.
I wonder if we’re all just-
A sea of souls under a sky of osmosis
Taking in
Feelings and thoughts and opinions and suppressing our
projected psychosis
A sky full of stars or empty lights on a faded screen ?
A song during monsoon on a broken chair on which you lean
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
You grasp the warm coffee cup, the skies harken,
It’s raining but it’s like your ears haven’t awoken,
It’s muted, it's faded it’s
Time itself.
Drawing out the edges on a grey canvas-
The cup is streaming but there’s no heat, a net without prey.
No red no ember no blue no yellow in the sky only the stratus
A paler, emptier grey.
If I just stay-
In the fabric of diminishing sunsets-
Perhaps I could imagine the warmth as well, feel the sunsets’ beat,
one cloud of red
but is it warm or a collective matrix of pixel assets
of seamless grey indexed in crescents
of lies and promises to effigies of-
effigies of
rotating sunsets in the future past
slideshows of clouds
of promises that are grey and collapsing boxes of dreams
Taxes and credits and ever lit shrouds
Seas of people and waves of apologies,
Extended deadlines and taxes and
Promises.
Promises to yourself promises to imaginary effigies,
promises to sunsets that are grey,
But perhaps you could reach them if you stay?
Perhaps you could steal a vein of heat that you caught,
at that old soup deli that never changed-
That lived in a time and not in a place
That lived in memories from the future
Perhaps if you reversed the pace.
The flicker of a candle not too far away,
of time encroaching and closing
Shrinking, a box made of dreams, caging
Holding your life in a cacophony of strings,
Protesting the clean grey skies
The boxes, the futures, the sunsets that are canvases and lies
The repeat and scroll over and over and over
And over and over as long as you lean.
Lean on the chair with grey in your eyes
Do you want to stop leaning?
You spy a fabric behind the skies
Holding together the curtain of clouds
Is it cold and steely and soulless behind the digital skies ?
In that it wraps and embeds my dreams around in a stitch of seamless
decisions that all lead to debits and credits
Checks and balances
Promises and receipts
and promises to effigies
To effigies of the future to uncertainties
tame uncertainties that are burning with ember within
neatly coloured boxes of grey
boxes that line up within the screen.
and if you just stay.
stay.
stay.
stay.
stay at your rectangular desk of teak wood that is so neatly grained
with your fourth journal that is slightly stained
with promises to effigies of the past
Promises to tears that were never cast
It feels cool and steely and neat and comfortable and
grey
and if you just stay
if you just stay-
In the fabric of diminishing sunsets
one cloud of red
but is it warm or a collective matrix of pixel assets
of seamless grey indexed in crescents
of lies and promises to effigies of-
effigies of
rotating sunsets in the future past
slideshows of clouds
of promises that are grey and collapsing boxes of dreams
Taxes and credits and ever lit shrouds
Of loans and checks and delis of soups that lean
that lean in to the chair at the teakwood desk
that ran perfect circles of grains within the stains
Of your journal that stared at
the greyed edges of the sunset clouds in disdain
A sea of souls under a sky of osmosis
Taking in
Feelings and thoughts and opinions and suppressing our
Own psychosis.
Seas of people and waves of apologies,
Extended deadlines and taxes and
Promises.
Promises to yourself promises to imaginary effigies,
promises to sunsets that are grey,
But perhaps you could reach them if you stay?
Perhaps you could steal a vein of heat that you caught,
at that old soup deli that never changed-
That lived in a time and not in a place
That lived in memories from the future
Perhaps if you reversed the pace.
The flicker of a candle not too far away
of time encroaching and closing
Shrinking, a box made of dreams, caging
and if you just stay.
Holding your life in a cacophony of strings,
Protesting the clean grey skies
The boxes, the futures, the sunsets that are canvases and lies
The repeat and scroll over and over and over
And over and over as long as you lean
and if you just stay
stay.
stay.
stay.
In that it wraps and embeds my dreams around in a stitch of seamless-
decisions that all lead to debits and credits
Checks and balances
Promises and receipts
and promises to effigies
To effigies of the future to uncertainties
tame uncertainties that are burning with ember within
neatly coloured boxes of grey
boxes that line up within the screen.
just stay
stay at your rectangular desk of teak wood that is so neatly grained
with your fourth journal that is slightly stained
with promises to effigies of the past
Promises to tears that were never cast
It feels cool and steely and neat and comfortable and
grey
and if you just stay
stay and watch the grey filled reality
of a soup deli in the rain of
Taxes and
Credits and boxes of dreams that promise you effigies
Promise you effigies that you can promise to
that stay in a time not in a place
away from a time when
you didn’t stop your slowing pace.
of-
blinding hexadecimals
Screeching pixels that promise you
Incremental extensions in cardinals
that tick away at your credits
And debits and taxes and
and
Flowers that are sketches of grey and not real and
Sunflowers in a coffee cup gone cold under
On top of my teakwood desk with tears falling
On journals that write about the clouds asunder
cloud below bellowing
stay stay stay
stay stay stay
stay stay stay
stay Annie
stay within the leaning chair
and make your promises to effigies and credit your taxes to
Sliding clouds that roll to uncertain futures
That colour crimson scribbles around
skyscrapers and windowless fixtures
Fixtures that ~inthatit~ that wrap and embeds my dreams around in a stitch of seamless
blinding hexadecimals
Screeching pixels that promise you
Incremental extensions in cardinals
Sliding clouds that roll to uncertain futures
That colour crimson and
Fixtures that ~inthatit~ that wrap and embeds my dreams around in a stitch of seamless-
cloud below bellowing
stay stay stay
stay stay stay
stay stay stay
stay Ananya
slideshows of moving screens and I
What if i just leaned in
[And tore the slide show]
the sky perhaps it’s not real perhaps
the incremental effigies are clouds pre-recorded
future memories reeled in a ordered
balance sheet of choices
And if if i could just
not let the flicker i caught slip between the nuances
and maybe the cup, it can crack a bit and the journal can turn a page
and the desk is fibrous not just a entry stage-
and if i close my eyes I can see the red, true red not
an hexadecimal array of lies
.. .
.
.
Of balance sheets and credits and debits and boxes of dreams pre-recorded cages of effigies of delis that promise you sunsets not grey
That perfectly wrappppppp ararouroundround-
Stay.
Stay stay oh won’t you stay
Stay and look at the violet sunset
Albeit manufactured albeit a default asset
won’t you stay, Annie, won’t you stay, and clear your debits and credits?
the cup could be warm if i tell you i saw steam
That I saw the fog on the window that i screamed
When i touched the handle because it was too hot
It really was red believe me and-
To Annie:
Stay within the sand
I’ll erase your checks and balances.
I’ll erase your pre-recorded dreams
I’ll erase your disappointment at the red
hey look at the blue dusklight and how it gleams ?
could you take your broken chair
And once again lean ?
lean on your teakwood desk chair (edited)
take on the boxes of collapsing dreams and checks and balances and I’ll change the sunset for you
From red to violet to orange to blue
And I’ll add a deli at every subway and you’ll see at least one sunbird coming from the salty waters and
Every now and then I’ll give you a glimpse of a steel fixture that staggers
In this paradise of convoluted grey
i will promise you effigies that you can promise to
in a draped out sunset of blue and grey in
If you don't
Question why they are grey
I’ll manufacture a steam draft for you, Annie
from your cup if you so wish
if you so wish it to feel the ink in the line.
I’ll draw it for you
i will draw in the outlines and stitch the edges with glue
and wrap around the
Sliding clouds that roll to uncertain futures
That colour crimson and
Fixtures that ~inthatit~ that wrap and embeds my dreams around in a stitch of seamless-
If you could just take me at my word
I’ll make the saffron seem real
and Annie you could you could ignore the steel
what can I not give you in this effigy of promises
Of futures and pasts and credits and balances
Screeching pixels that promise you
stay and watch the grey filled reality
Sunflowers in a coffee cup gone cold under
decisions that all lead to debits and credits
Checks and balances
Promises and receipts
and promises to effigies
To effigies of the future to uncertainties
tame uncertain-
I’ll write you a world here within the grey lines, Ananya
first i could write you:
A sky full of stars or a empty lights on a faded screen ?
A song during monsoon on a broken chair on which you lean
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
and violet sunsets and wedding feasts
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
The sound of cicadas a cruise on the beach
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
A million little butterflies flying over a sea of orchids
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
a travel blog a parfait of kiwis and mangoes
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
A June wedding that you always wanted with the tulips all picked
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
maybe a song that made you cry umm i could see your lover standing by and
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
By the rose gardens and looking into your eyes
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
Except it’s not the chair that is broken.
Except it’s not the desk that is broken.
Except it’s not the cup that is broken.
Except it’s not the sunset that is broken.
broken broken broken chairs and assets of unresolved glitches ?
and hexadecimal arrays and i can’t control the ASCII that seeps from my pen at my journal that sits on the teakwood desk
violet sunset clouds that gleam with their stitches
the stitches in plain disarray, staring
I always knew there were stitches in the skies
I always held the cup that could not give me
warmth but only steam drawings
Except it’s not the cup that is broken.
Except it’s not the cup that is broken.
Except it’s not the cup that is broken.
Except it’s not the sunset that is broken.