Monday, July 18, 2016

Black on Maroon, by Mark Rothko



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It seems like the end of the world, doesn’t it? The way the fringes fall apart? the way the edges of the polluted, dying oceans just roll out into nothingness? And then,

This is poetry, of the coarsest sort.
That magnetizes, rhapsodizes, without really saying anything
                                    (without really saying anything)
It looks at you               Do you look back?
                           do you dare?

This is poetry, of the cruelest sort,
That demands, that escapes the grasp of pattern and recognition and familiarity,
         wants you to fill in the void—
                  but you know, it knows            all too well, you can’t...

When you wake up in the middle of the night, jumping up from a fearful dream that suddenly escapes you as your head rises from the soft pillow—

When you open the door to success, and you’re met with metallic laughter, so you close the door, and the laughter echoes in your hollowed mind for eternity—

When you come close,             closer now                            what can/do you see?

        {enter nightmare}

It’s shadows, shadows, shadows everywhere. It’s sick, really. Even when there isn’t any light...still...just the sounds of distant, ocean waves, washing out the brightness, masking the dead mutterings of something else—

This is poetry of the darkest sort.
Can’t you see the black? —really?     
                                                               (Haha)
Can’t it see you?
                                    —where?

(...)                              

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