Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet,
performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal
about town, feminist, freewheeler, and
friend. One day, she is going to be an
ideas curator. Which basically
means, she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
Until then, you’ll have
to read between
the lines.
you’ll think me mad
I’d like to do the same
to find the rhyme within the reason
but I’ve just lost perspective
my mind is right beside me here.
Nothing but persistent,
I have my jaw set, the mandible locked
around the memory of you.
I would never presume you in your present tense:
you, you superman, you Lou Reed, you beastie boy.
I kept your every photograph, the cactus tree
growing inside me, till I was pierced with livid memory
I listened to your tapes until technology took that.
There is no possession in the recollection of somewhat pleasure,
somewhat pain – but still –
I kept the bric a brac of you all until irony burnt them all, razed them,
ashen and dusty. I hit my head the limp and lame baboon
too simpleton for you, too protozoal, unevolved –
rudimentary in my every emotion, for in fact, I only ever had the one:
I wanted to know why
so I could flagellate myself with accuracy.
Punished with blunt tools
I was merely blue for you.
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absolutely fab ,, you are not mad
eli