Le Lapin • Cultivated by Mari Amman
Le Lapin
Poetry, Prose &Suche Vol. III
0:00
-8:22

Poetry, Prose &Suche Vol. III

Rigour: to care; to be thorough; to attend to with great detail

The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.


Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence


Rigour

to care

to be thorough

to attend to with great detail


EVERYONE ELSES CONCERN

Mood swing me baby
as he bounced me on his knee
giggling with cabbage-patch-loving glee
a world of gems, can you honestly, tell me
we're much different from them
the selves with raw honest feeling

the winters aren't even as cold
evident in lack of piles of snow
yet, I go out in search of cement pavements
a stoop to quiver under, unsure runs about my spine

and I just blankly stare
longing for lethargic heat
I travel to gaze upon

my bathtubs bronze feet

to get a foamy soak in the deepest melancholic mope
finding myself tempted by imagination

shall we call this a salt tub an ocean too?
while I fantasise beneath crystalline white bubbles
a slumber yelled by liberal banter
through socialism, indoctrination takes the lead

threaded by duct-tape to seal down

a trap door, we all know can be found

in those history book shelves

beneath wrinkled adhesives

favoured by the few

who decided to take pleasure

in that which is rarely

appreciated.


MACHINE

how long can this last non-conformist mould I make dangling beats dancing

with no rhythm this season makes night-time day

sunlight just creates a headache

oh boy you bet I’ve got some spirit left

and dreams they cannot any longer wait

I revel in awe I  wonder what signs my body begins to make

tune into a dial tone and pause

for we all want someone to love and uphold

such desires are proclaimed to unfold

while we let it all go and tears fly, punches fall

and upon my next rise

I hope the isolated version forces some form of exhaustion from a hunger feigned by the pain gained

when productivity hits its highest

then machine talks back

in lack of sleep.


TALK TO ME

You're a pretty cool kid
that's what she said
as we shivered under
the bent green cast house-light.

I kept my cup of tea
near to the place
reserved for romantic feeling
as her voice poured
into the pores of my skin
and I let it soak all in.

we spoke of childhood pastimes
and upbringing ideals
making and validating
what I commit
faith in being real.

practical stranger sharing
evening time with me-
no distractions.
honesty-laid on the table
as it's popularly spoken of-
I found comfort in
not even had trying.


DOCUMENTATION

Witnessing the smoke drawing in dancing winds spun swirling tender tendrils around poorly painted fingernails
which led us to here where an indoctrination of promises
for days to be different led me to somehow wonder

in which ways should life bend beyond the reference

to vehicle identification or other bureaucratic proceedings

as if our bodies were another car next in line.

what queer signs survive before me
a plasticine compare and contrast game

of who is what to whom
continually forecasting unforeseen shifted dreams

repetitiously doesn’t make obvious advances

in the phoniness of promises of retreats...

the signals said just stop
put to bed that which is bathed in mystery

life is already the perfection of poetry

and beams we can traverse upon to let
struggles be stepping stones

for a heart knows it’s never alone
and warmed by internal chain reactions
triggered from some form of free-falling spiral staircase
dares no one to climb or fall yet resign to gazes in awe

such a turbinate shape, assured of itself
an axis in which time really goes nowhere.


WISHING WELL

A warm breeze dollied up a spring
some only stumble upon to drink
with secret suicide lips stealing

stories of cynically corrupt human beings
a something not quite fleeting

of a pigmented dream residing

inside stiff stories traveling

filled by tumbling leaf forces
instead of dissolving a wall built

of pellucid lies drawing trickling drips
such poisons promising understanding

closer to humanity
while finding a looser grasp
in a well fitting suit repellant of

people while dragging my body about
the air grew thicker still

passerby’s paid little mind

yet mentioned
the sounds were a bit smoother

yet needed more to soothe

such a bubbling well

of a source run awry

mountain air grow dry

threatened by

pouring rain begging clouds

to do their part in a way

to spout tranquility

such remnants of wishes

reflect upon polluted pools

for all to see.


PINCUSHION

Just a jab

another shiny
pointed pin
resilient by the soft pad
flowering

within a promise

of power for your spirit within
a solid base as to
never tip to any side
perfect to keep around
paying no mind to what
keeps the captivating
exterior intact
as this necessity is
easily forgotten
if not around
there would be no place

for sharp objects to be held

in the temporary seams

the fusion for the pins

would unfold and spill out

the softness we sought

to contain.


A DANGEROUS LANE

Riding behind a driver I would never trust

I’m watching cars pass by transfixed I try to be found

a refuge in rotating hubcaps while imagining the sounds

of other vehicular conversations to escape my disdain

for choosing this position in the backseat hearing

the blinker switch clicking at the hand of a slender creature

feigning to be my boyfriend’s friend
I remain washed by the fresh shower scent

and glance over at my friend checking

cellular phone messages while finishing a smoke
My legs comfortably tucked, angled to my right

adjacent to my love’s pleasant calm side

I find some way to enjoy our here and now

of some bizarre family of friends version of a story
and while notating this situation down

I sense my heart groggily growing

slowly more open

despite my fear and dread

of the drivers’ propensity for distraction

immersed in the sensory experience

and the colour palette around

I tune into receive an echo for my ache for comfort

from the best he could muster was “like woah”

and that was enough input I needed from his lips

to smile and think

yeah, it’s exactly like this.


© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL III.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

Discussion about this episode

User's avatar