The Reckoning

My daughter
plays loud musak in the day time
and louder in the nighttime
i know she wails your name
I did the same
giving up your name to the storm above
as if it could take the sound out of my body
I’m wishing to forget it
never want to say it again
not even by accident…

My daughter
sings that she is lucky until it is over
she believes in the burial as much as the marriage
I am not so sure anymore
I wish I was not so sore in my jaw
I’m losing my teeth along with my faith
Jesus’ body slips around in my broken mouth now
I almost choke each time
Why can’t you save me now?

My hair became knotted last September
when I took to the sea for 3 months
escaping the reality
the burden
the stupidity of my life now
it is total bullshit
I needed to be elsewhere and the titan Hemingway knew a certain resolve comes from the deceit of one’s self so that is how it started and that is why i know now it can never end
these knots in my hair are meant to strangle me to death
but when they reach around and under my chin
they weaken and rot
under the relentless salty downpour
that gushes from my quivering eyes

My tears they speak to the wind
and the wind picks up speed
and tries to push me down into the ground
as if fate must make me lay down and lie to the gods
preaching to me with nature
that i must be happy to be worm-food
because I am near you
but you are not here anymore
and you haven’t been for a long time
that is what he told me
as he walked down the stairs
each day
the morning sun rose as he descended
and I followed
oh why did i follow
because I couldn’t face the sun?
the smiles?
the normal day?
I couldn’t face you
I held spittle in my cheeks
verbal spite I could not gulp into my gut
I spat when I saw
your graying face

And I know it should not be of importance
how I speak now
nobody can hear me
but my eyes can’t perceive you any other way
than how you first saw me
my whole life I felt I was see-through
but you grabbed me with your gaze and didn’t let go for decades
until the cancer stripped your nervous system and twisted your eyes backward into your skull
and your tongue fell loose
and the dribble that dripped from your lips
just wasn’t seductive anymore

My daughter tells me it will all be ok
her undying joi de vivre!
she doesn’t know this but
she takes my life from me with each swirl of her skirt
I’d kill for her bosom to rest upon
you’d understand this and we’d make love
fighting under the sheets but the stars are not in your eyes
and the worms must eat just like we did
I hope they are not vicious
not that it matters dear

Unleavened bread was your fiasco
as fashionable as tobasco
you’d tell me about the future
as if you’d always be there
but now I read the past and see the fable
called you out before I even had the chance
to predict outside of the box
that constricts me now

scoffing at the wise
we’d once vomit in so far as to not become
but now your resemblance is dire
and my own is far worse
I’ve been stolen by the power that is Left
and devoured by what is left of ‘right’
as I rot in the mire
through this unending night

How do i empty my soulless purse
of all that has transpired?

We’d lie in the woods on a summer’s eve
with nothing but mushrooms and the light breeze
as our distant angelic friends
notable for their music
and their elements
confusing each other and everything

I’d lay there and grin
as you silently began to die within.

He was my greatest downfall and never let me forget it.

How do I breach the defenses when I am defenseless?

I walked a church yard alone that morning with my head held high and my tears broken on the ground behind me

I would not be coming back

“no one’s gonna love you
like i do”

“1 2 3 4 5 6 7
all good children go to heaven”

Even the gulls are hiding tonight
as a cacophony of sea-born violence rages on
and I am vis-a-vis
writing out my fears.

Written by Pylyshyn Deogy.

The Reckoning


Lennox Head, Australia

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artist's Description

Hemingway’s final spelling mistake was not that the gun is primed but the gun is lo-dead.

And surely we all know that Hemingway is now not a man but a mere metaphor that exists within the genius of inspiration…

Artwork Comments

  • msdebbie
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

10% off

for joining the Redbubble mailing list

Receive exclusive deals and awesome artist news and content right to your inbox. Free for your convenience.