An Old EPIC.

I was just looking through my old My Space blog to see how and when I started blogging. Everything back at the beginning is fairly rough (I say that as if it has changed now) but I found this piece of writing I did a little over a year ago. I wrote this backstage at the Met in my free time after reading the incredible Siri Hustvedt book, "What I Loved." I was so excited by the story that I started taking ideas and putting it into a poem/song form. Once starting, I didn't really stop; it just kind of KEEPS GOING. However, there are parts of it I would really like to develop into separate pieces. Let me just reiterate; its LOOOONG. Reel those thoughts in Matt!

Seven months and three days
That’s how long since we first met
You had on a pale shade of gray
With a coffee stain running down the chest

Something about the stain drew me in immediately
There was some sort of chaos in the way it ran
The way you stared, it looked like you’d purchase me
You’d remember differently I’m sure, forgetful man.

You asked me to pose,
And my lips parted silently;
I remember.
I felt tingling in my toes
The floorboards shifted noisily;
I remember.

I remember
The silence,
And the shifting of the mood.
Our bodies were drifting
Its odd how close to you
I felt in those first minutes
As oils touched the canvas,
Sparking, Spreading,
Remember?

Forgetting is what we did,
I was like some lovesick kid
In that canvas where we hid
Towards the center of your loft.
Everything seemed clear to me,
For once, how I dreamed my life to be
But dreams are not reality
See how quickly I forgot.

Paint the way you want me
Chose a shade that won’t be tainted
Forbidden as our love may be
It’s hidden in the way you painted.

Beneath the canvas, reflected I can see
Something I know you couldn’t have planned
A blur of colors, somehow forming me
It was then I was in love I’m sure, forgetful man.

We talked novels, latest news
Indulged in some booze
But not so much that you’d lose
Control of your brush
Each stroke like the next
Creating small flecks
When you got perplexed
It would make me blush.

So what did I know,
In those blushing cheeks?
As we started this show,
My life was not complete
I knew that loft was us,
And it will always be
That’s where you painted
And helped create me.

But forgetful man,
Soon I saw the ring
On your hand.
You said I shouldn’t worry
Promised I was the one you loved
I didn’t need promises
Or to be handled with kid gloves
No matter what you told me
It was the painting that could hold me.

It wasn’t a game
No, I didn’t want to win,
I’d never spoken to her,
Was not about to begin.
But then foolish me
I set foot inside your gallery.
Parked myself right down
In front of our portrait
You made perfect choices
Right down to the frame
Like our love, it was called “untitled”
And it made the perfect balance of joy and pain.

I watched my dream fade away,
Observing your wife in the gallery;
Forget it.
I looked and met her gaze
Reality was rushing into me;
Forget it.

Forgetting,
Everything
It was your wife and child
Some other kind of life,
It’s odd how something in me smiled
I felt in that one minute
As you and I sat by the canvas
A spark, an understanding
Both of us
Forgetting.

You and your family
Walked out the door
And met the chilly air
I just stared and the floor
Even though I was warm,
I am frozen forever
For nothing could prepare
My body for the moment
Feeling faint,
I looked up to the painting,
With some hope of regaining.
No solace found;
Her image is mine
But in it I see you.

To me,
You will always be
living, breathing, creating
To you,
I’ll live as oils,
Just brush strokes on a painting.
I’m created
You have the power
To chose when its complete
Can you not learn to separate
A canvas and me?

I cannot be angry
Cannot wish that we’d never met
I feel my body staining
Knowing I too was something you would forget
She and I had barely spoken
And somehow so much was said
I’ll remember it all forever
But dream I could forget instead.