The Green-Eyed Shwemyethna
The Green-Eyed Shwemyethna
Eyes that flash a beautiful anger,
two green moons,
an anger endless as dog day shadows.
I watch this moon-girl, bare bellied, waist wispy,
gyrate on the dance floor, as if she‘s possessed
by fever or the ghost of a scarred ancestor.
The DJ, too stoned to get off his ass,
can't stop playing West End Girls.
Eyes that flash a beautiful anger,
two green moons,
an anger endless as dog day shadows.
I watch this moon-girl, bare bellied, waist wispy,
gyrate on the dance floor, as if she‘s possessed
by fever or the ghost of a scarred ancestor.
The DJ, too stoned to get off his ass,
can't stop playing West End Girls.
Moon-girl spins around & around
drunk on her outrageous momentum
as if she could make the world rotate
drunk on her outrageous momentum
as if she could make the world rotate
on its own fables.
Spin.
Spin.
Spin along the edge of your own spoon.
She weaves her crazy limbs under the dash of lights
until they blur into four or eight arms
& her strange dance taunts me,
robs me of all false name pretense,
the body no longer a shock absorber
to sudden love.
Back at my apartment,
a grotto of night,
I embrace her quiver,
mimic her trilogy of sighs,
grip her arms white as heroin,
a shade of Alice, a shade of sugar.
Her love is hard & fast,
sand & death & moon-dust kisses
but she soon evaporates from the room,
past the wall of white sleep,
perhaps too, from the agenda
of stonewall rules & shallow breathers.
Tomorrow, the city will wake with the bustle,
the roar of downtown buses, the grumble
of impatient commuters & scam artists.
It will rain green, the weathermen predicted it,
everywhere it will rain green droplets,
& people will think green rain,
shake off green rain at bus stops,
this green rain, its tragic love affair with the earth.
& somewhere a water-sister cries over her brother-lover
addicted to solids & city street maps.
I know that story.
& the world will know green
but it will not remember
the green-eyed Shwemyethna
who died in my sugar-deprived sleep.
She weaves her crazy limbs under the dash of lights
until they blur into four or eight arms
& her strange dance taunts me,
robs me of all false name pretense,
the body no longer a shock absorber
to sudden love.
Back at my apartment,
a grotto of night,
I embrace her quiver,
mimic her trilogy of sighs,
grip her arms white as heroin,
a shade of Alice, a shade of sugar.
Her love is hard & fast,
sand & death & moon-dust kisses
but she soon evaporates from the room,
past the wall of white sleep,
perhaps too, from the agenda
of stonewall rules & shallow breathers.
Tomorrow, the city will wake with the bustle,
the roar of downtown buses, the grumble
of impatient commuters & scam artists.
It will rain green, the weathermen predicted it,
everywhere it will rain green droplets,
& people will think green rain,
shake off green rain at bus stops,
this green rain, its tragic love affair with the earth.
& somewhere a water-sister cries over her brother-lover
addicted to solids & city street maps.
I know that story.
& the world will know green
but it will not remember
the green-eyed Shwemyethna
who died in my sugar-deprived sleep.
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Author's Note
pubbed in Danse Macabre, in the Commedia section. Pen Name: Kyle Hemmings
Other stories by Kyle Hemmings
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Enjoyed the read, David - especially stanza four.
thanks, Sam, for taking the time to read this.
Lovely: the harsh and the beautiful.
Thank you, Katrina for the kind comment.
Oooh, really like this poem. Flowed with it and enjoyed the narrative framework and the girl. Thanks! H
thanks, Heather!
Nicely done, David. Lots of unexpected images. I like, "She weaves her crazy limbs under the dash of lights
until they blur into four or eight arms
& her strange dance taunts me,
Thanks, Bonnie!