I have decided to begin posting older work on Sundays, for the sake of housecleaning, cataloguing, reminiscing, etc. This decision is, more than anything, selfish pragmatism: I am currently suffering from a severe lack of free time, and my creative output is coming more slowly (but still steadily).
I will also try to give some sort of explanatory introduction to each piece in regards to where I was at when I composed it and any other relevant little tidbits. For this first little number, I don’t have much to say other than it’s a dope/lovesick threnody of mourning for Camille that I composed a year or so after she split. If you don’t know who I’m referring to, try reading this first.
I will try to, as much as possible*, refrain from criticizing or critiquing these older pieces, many of which I feel are the ill-formed flailings of a kid trying to find his own artistic voice.
But, after all, context is everything. If nothing else, then these pieces will serve as a testament to my own development as an artist and, most importantly, as a human being.
And also that I, like, totally missed Camille…
The Dead Flowers of Regret
I miss you in the way a shiftless war loser laments a phantom limb,
grasping in vain at the once-familiar
and meeting nothing but sweat-stained sheets
and nameless defeats,
only mine has a name:
I miss you like an idiot savant misses the culminating point:
it’s not entirely his fault,
but it’s entirely his folly.
I miss you like a reluctant retiree
who longs to return to the hustle and bustle of the work week,
for at least then he had something to wake up for in the morning
and a reason to keep his mustache dapper
and his face smelling proper.
I miss you like a saintly hermit misses mass.
I take communion in secret,
far away from the object of adoration I whisper to
in the quiet darkness–
God would never hold it against me,
but I sure as hell know the difference.
Thoughts of losing you are more painful than all the poena damnis
promised to the most immoral sinner’s immortal soul.
I miss you like a hopeful immigrant misses the proverbial boat,
left standing on the dirty coast of short-changed cosmic souls,
staring across a shiny, misleading sea of possibilities
as his one shot at happiness sails over the horizon.
I know I’ll likely drown, but I dive right in,
though I can barely swim and the water is frigid and black
with no end in sight.
I would rather die trying to reach you
than teach myself to live without you.
I miss you like Odysseus misses his home,
and no amount of sirens
can change that.
I miss you like the morning star misses its firmament,
and no amount of fog
can change that.
I miss you like Sampson misses his hair,
because you give me strength
and something to live for.
Without you, I collapse on the temple floor,
the stone pillars of my enemies crashing down around me.
But I won’t fight back
because you’re already gone
along with my wig.
*I’m not perfect: Think you could throw me another simile there, bud? Might not be enough as is.