I made the mistake (of going to a party) (Draft).

I made the mistake
–A language which dowses me

Disowns me
but if she were disrobed
from my exiled python
I could not be happy then;

I had slept in again
after they drank beer belonging

to their fathers, only had seen
them in chiffon, touching each other
crazed
discarding haar fleece; I only fake-married
a woman I had met once before

I let her keep the banns,
told her I didn’t care what she did with it.
She had eyes that hid a body, perhaps,

made me dizzy before we abandoned each other.

The rest of the night
I talked with my mother,
becoming both an adulterer
and mesquite whore for being anywhere else
except where I was.

I imagined the loss
of the oleanders; both murderer and adulterer,
the woman I had married, perhaps the same
as when we first met.

There was nowhere
crawling the panics and
the ruins of Villa romaine

except for people asking where to get beer and pot
online,
except for me hiding downstairs
insulated from the conflux.

I was never good at parties.

I thought of the woman walking with a cane,
who had a death wish for the Les-Casquets
in her casket; but she was between insane,
wasn’t she? She accepted, with it her cruelty,
and with it, her démence.

And I thought of this mysterious woman
only have existed, gone as a ghost.

© 2022 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.


Partially truth, partially fiction.


11 responses to “I made the mistake (of going to a party) (Draft).”

  1. I am so glad to see your poem for this! This has the feel of a smoky dream–“haar” is the perfect word for it. It has something of the impairment of alcohol and also of desire and dementia. None of it is strictly clear, like a loaded scene seen through cheesecloth in the late hours of some strange party or its aftermath. And yet, it is still as sharp as a cheese grater drawn across the skin, despite its shroomy strangeness. Moreover, the French bits near the end give it an exotic seasoning that I like. After all, everything sounds better en francais, even madness.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. sounds like we were at the same party ( i was the oleanders next to fake married woman)

    i really enjoyed this, loved the language, and the way all your images slide slightly out of place, gives it an unreal and real feel all at the same time. very well written,

    Liked by 1 person

    • We very well may have been, Phillip. Sorry I didn’t notice you! My fake wife took off on me before I decided to leave her too. I went downstairs to hide in the bathroom eventually.

      Thank you so much for the lovely words, I am really happy you enjoyed this piece. I wanted to create disjointed imagery–a disconnected narrative that still reveals elements of something.

      Like

  3. Fascinating! I love all the interactions you describe in this poem, whether real or imagined, on this plane or another, despite the fact you’re not good at parties! I love the expression “mesquite whore”, it makes me think of someone who’s a social gadfly but who doesn’t enjoy it. Love this section, it’s so tantalising:

    “I only fake-married
    a woman I had met once before

    I let her keep the banns,
    told her I didn’t care what she did with it.
    She had eyes that hid a body, perhaps,

    made me dizzy before we abandoned each other.”

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: