I Lie Through My Teeth

I Lie Through My Teeth
by Brina

September, Utrecht 2006

I lie through my teeth
when I say rainstorms harm me
but this way at least I don’t have to explain
the geographical longing of my shoulders
and maybe still make it on time for
one of the night trains
to some north European town.

The pavement breezes, I caress it with my
feet. I’m trying not to care about
the modest trees with crimson leafs,
the way they chant, the monks shiver
down there, on the warmer side of Earth.
And the way they move resonates an ancient tune
their silky veins exposed like
some naked moon. The sound they make, it
imitates the hidden strings in my ear
zesty tuned, they imitate me when I try
to say something sweet but hesitate. But as
I said before, I can’t afford to care this late.

And words coat themselves in other words
for the sake of not being too obvious,
I don’t exactly try, I learned to cherish the clarity
of an apple pie. (I am as obvious as an apple pie)
In the news Bin Laden died while
in my room, I was installing lamps
They told me all there is to know about the
humility of light, and then themselves went dark.

It doesn’t make sense to be in several
places at the same time and maybe that’s why
my neighbours put the puzzled blue faces on when
I’m punching at the walls of my own room.
My parents would be proud, they always said
it’s important to be the best at something
the cement lumps in these premises tell
a story of my trying yes

Still I find myself reliving what’s yet to come
in this cosy kamer on the third floor
I am a perturbed liar myself
but still have a preference for a certain kind of
trombone noise. Somebody should finally install nets on bell towersand capture bats: they’d make good baritones.

Instead, I’m waiting for the street drawing “in patchouli nuts we trust”
and for too much coffee in my sugar
it could wake up my own personal slumber
once and for all and reveal
the 44 days of heat and harm
the summer strident telephone wires,
with its infinite charm -
knocked down like a rainstorm, onto my shoulders
downstream dropped heavy and strong.
This sipping longing, in this official Fall.