did nothing but wish and cry, wishing baby I were the rivulets streaming from your eyes.
so many times.
every time i’d believe you had gone i’d bring you back from an empty grave.
they’d say, Girl, you cray or you ok?
but just crazé en amoré for an imaginary friend who doesn’t want to play-ay
is the story.
and its name is Sleepy Bane-Bane!
i’d sneak you in and lock you up. you wanted out; i heard you bang.
‘rattle all you want but doors stay shut till I say you’re out.’
–not that you behaved.
truth be told, psycho to numb (and back) i used to be a rad case;
‘d catch myself tight-roping down the sane-lane.
i used to wonder why all the coddles of you in my brain.
the escape would rock me back and forth
to ether on hand and cloth; my world a sloth!
a window seat on a moving train
a long for masking:
i’d see dennis hopper
and his velvet
halothane.
a memory of an old stash, an old flame…a label dose-enough
for Sleepy Bane-Bane.
my a.b. negative rare and blue
tick-tock every drop tick-tock i liked the clock…
i used to beg it never stop. i called it Still.
i needed muse; a pain i couldn’t waste.
i kept that finger on that fuse.
Courtney shot Cobain!
then Self-Love rose, asking about this recurring loving-pain.
“Go cat$ink-cat$ink with this story one day…
make love real, not an illusion; that you for Me,
Tall
Be here!”
Ya—i’d rather have delusions of grandeur than any perception smaller.
Boy, it was memories making you fane in my brain. with a bed.
and the squeak on that door meant the girl was in the mood.
But, never did Venus ever sit on your penis; it was just a room
Empty.
in my head though, it’d get loud and rowdy;
all this from a night of kissing in a hotel room on Sherbrooke.
and pheromones.
i call upon the particles of sand;
the soul-grain sifting when in scintillating love!
they called me nuts.
Cut to years later—although now faint, still is the shadow of a stain.
Will it fade or will Quill go back for pen name…Sleepy Bane-Bane?
– Kiki Dranias
Photo by Ehimetalor Akhere Unuabona on Unsplash
