audrey dimola[art for the wild]

Posts Tagged ‘literature

sparkler

i wrote this for someone very dear to me, in remembrance of someone dear to him. their story, her story, hit me hard. the details. realizing yet again that all we have is this moment.. and everything we leave behind. the impressions we make on the people we love – and even people we’ve never met. sometimes a star is just that bright..

this is for sweet alex, with love to her.. and all those we are left staring at the sky, wishing for.

“life is beautiful, go tell everyone”

this is for you, dear beauty
i’ve never met-
because the wildness makes
us all sisters.
the universe doesn’t always
make it easy but
souls still burn
even in absence. sometimes
even brighter..
never contained. only memories.
only purity. only song. only
golden strands & flecks of
blue. you.
this is for you, beauty.
who had things to do
on the other side of silence,
your path redrawn abruptly-
all of us
lighting candles,
watching for your spark
inside the flame.
the last thing he
said to you was a sweet
promise to keep
“until next time” –
now saved
for the clouds..
a thousand candles,
a jazz band
bumpin’ so fine
you can dance
as long &
as joyfully
as you damn well
please.
& that is what we
will do,
beauty.
we will look at your
smile in photos
& post words you
can’t read & title
as-yet-unimagined artworks
after your mexican
standoff eyes in the
19th century drawing
room of your face.
& we will go on.
all the strange &
simple things-
the dusting of snow,
soggy cereal, the
sighs on the other
end of the phone..
we know you’re still
working, out there.
& we must too.
you are part of the
wild now.
the endless whirling in
our heads when we
try to sleep,
where we go
when we get lost
in brushstrokes,
the feeling that
makes us dance &
dance until we cry
from laughter,
from ache..
how lucky are we
to have seen a
shooting star?
some souls have
forever to make a
move & never do.
others streak across
our sky but once
& we can never
ever
forget.
travel well,
beauty.
we’re curling up inside
the space you left
this winter..
the glow of your
remembrance
will keep us warm.

XO

a.

“to every man his chimera.” -baudelaire

burning-hand 10478114_735356976547373_716682159052866324_n
art by ben cauchi

there is always that one person. the alchemy you created together cannot be undone and you still feel the effects in your bones. the way you did from the start, the way you knew.. you felt it there. in the marrow. and maybe suddenly it makes sense – why you had to meet and destroy each other the way you did.. so that you can draw upon it, the endless wellspring. draw upon it as if it all happened just a moment ago, because as far as this surreality is concerned – it did. you are eternally reignited. eternally present.. the wound scars over but somehow it still bleeds. new blood.

the art above caught my eyes immediately. all i can think of is breton’s nadja – so mystical and dismantling. how it will always be the story of us..

while this town is busy sleeping,
all the noise has died away.
i walk the streets to stop my weeping,
cuz she’ll never change her ways.

don’t fool yourself, she was heartache from the moment that you met her.
ah, my heart feels so still as i try to find the will to forget her, somehow.
ooh, i think i’ve forgotten her now.. -jeff buckley

just when i think i’m out from under you
just when i think i’ve stopped the ringing in my ears
i stopped turning around to try and find you
but in that moment –
you appear.
i was bringing flowers to my mother and i watched
the gait of the man before me
the soles of the feet hitting the earth
the dark shine of the hair turning ’round corner
slowly i followed, hanging back, watching
in the darkness and only the streetlights
it was just you and i, apart on the blacktop,
unbeknownst and you began
to sing.
when you were mine you never
sang for me and now you
give your gift
on stages again and sometimes
i wish i could just hole up in the back and watch
but i can’t be that girl anymore
i can’t keep
prying open the locks with bleeding fingers i
can’t keep
taking chances.
somehow in the blindness of that night
i wanted to still that moment
awash in the sentiment of
watching you from the
other side of the glass –
my god, the way you always
make me forget the hurt..
headphones on, your voice echoing
against blank warehouse walls and
bare trees
i don’t remember anything except
the rawness of your beauty which i think is why
you were always so dangerous.
you are a shadow to which i
cannot find the light source
and i keep adjusting my position but
you always find a way to
cast your darkness over me..
you turned slightly, i thought, to see me and i
stopped dead in my tracks like
the animal you made me
caught in the crosshairs
of your eyes again.
always struck in that moment and
arrested, all blood slowed to the pound of
this possibility, the overarching reality like
the belt of a comet cinched too tight on my
universe, i – couldn’t let you see me
i had to say something, i couldn’t
do this to you, i couldn’t do this –
to me.
then you disappeared.
i asked my father, standing outside the house,
the direction i swore you had moved in,
braced myself for the run-in, didn’t you hear
that singing? i said, wide-eyed and heart still
clattering in chest, i could’ve sworn it.
you are more of a ghost than i
could even realize – i still believe in the light
that casts your shadow..
why, when – i know at the core of me that you could
never say yes, you were always telling me
no, goddamn, and no – but somehow i still loved
orbiting you like circling the god made
of marble i could never graze my clumsy
mortal fingers against..
it’s still
poetic in the way i don’t think i will ever be able to
purge from these pages, rub from my hands,
rip and tear from the dirty patchwork of memory lining
the walls of my heart.
i gave these words to the world and i said
fly away, baby. this one’s for you.
and like clockwork, synchronicity strikes
to gut me –
i saw a photo of you yesterday and you had wings.
upturned to the sky,
that stray lock of hair against
your cheek, that
face i stared at night after night
wildness tamed to
bewilderment,
that face
i remember,
i know,
you can only love me
in ruin.
but i am still one for stubborn archaic dreams –
i saw a photo of you yesterday and you had wings..
my god, how
can i still believe in the light that casts your shadow?
why – is it so impossible
to
forget you?

XO

a.

 

there’s something strange that rides on the edge of disaster.

a kind of hope, in the distance, in the blinders.

in the windshield promise of the open road.

the fact that even in the heartache..

things change.

again – we were in the car, me shotgun, outside my house. impressionable in college, anyway. i let you cut my hair and you butchered it. but you said: “if nothing changes, nothing changes.” your mom, passed on, told you that. and you still wore a few strands of her greyed hair inside your necklace.

i wonder what i would do if i could pull apart what we are – what parts would i take? wear around my neck? crystallize? lift up to the shelf where all of our myriad objects from journeys get left.

i was moving my clothes and your terracotta incense burner shaped like a church fell. and broke.

i wonder.

the heart is not a metaphor, they say.

what about everything else?

there is a strange promise in the artery of heartbreak.

even in the severing, you take comfort in the fact..

you’ll bleed new blood.

it doesn’t mean –

never trust again.

it doesn’t mean –

never love again.

it just means..

there are more mirrors in this house than i expected.

but i realize now how easy it is for you to look past your own reflection.

isn’t it funny, how we all always say –

i thought i knew you?

maybe it’s not even possible – to know.

it’s just whatever strand of light hits the glass first.

XO

a.

my girl, my girl, don’t lie to me. tell me where did you sleep last night? in the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine. i would shiver the whole night through.

sometimes i think – i need to disappear into the woods.

hollow out a space for my bones, curled up into a tangle of fur and paws and tears.

even the beasts cry, sometimes.

especially when they don’t want to.

i am not foolish enough to believe that anyone can be what you need them to be.

i remember his mother telling me that, a few heartbreaks ago, from the driver’s seat of her car on the island.

she said it in passing but it predicted the end – of that. of – so many things.

this sad zodiac.. my stars shattered into a bowl, mortar and pestle, feed me my wishes again so i can stay.. alive.

it all comes out in the grinding.

in the working of the words, of the bones, of the promises.

where is the line from acceptance to acceptance? what makes it surrender? what makes it holding your breath?

i am not a guru sitting in the woods, eyes closed, hands folded. sweet smile.

i am the beast in the burrow.

i don’t believe you.

acceptance is not surrender in the usual sense. funny, these guises of words.

all guises. all words held on posts against faces. we promise. and promise. and close our eyes again.

but it’s not important enough, is it? is it.

you have lived this long enough and i am not understanding.

i think i know enough to say – i don’t want to..

maybe i should keep it. myself.

let you remember how the lone howl fits in your throat.

leave you with the cup. the lighter and matchsticks.

i don’t believe you.

..

even the beasts cry, sometimes.

waiting for another dream.

XO

a.


Into the wild wonderland…

Celebrated as “a wildfire in a world of fluorescent bulbs,” a “poetic force of nature,” and “inspiration incarnate,” Queens, New York City native AUDREY DIMOLA is a poet, performer, curator, messenger, local arts advocate, community organizer, and lifelong artist, as well as Director of Public Programs at Long Island City’s Socrates Sculpture Park. // Thanks so much for stopping by! You’ll find all my work on this website, past and present, as well as new blog posts. Poetry, prose, videos, events, photos, articles – it’s all here. // STAY WILD, STAY GRATEFUL!

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