Today marks the anniversary of the death of Type O Negative cornerstone, Peter Steele. Four years ago he passed away, and it is an absence the metal community will never foreseeably recover from. Peter's combination of acerbic humor and Gothic sensibilities made him and his band beloved by more than could be numbered, and I felt like writing something in the ol' Green Man's honor for today. Note, not about him...just heavily colored with his legacy.
So, today's poem. (And if you are a fan of Type O Negative, look at the correlation between today's date, poem title and line count... *hinthint*)
Haunted While Drunk in Paris...I Still Can't Lose You
The rooms glittering these towers with their amber,
from far enough away they all become stars,
and I haven't forgotten your eyes, their stars.
As if I could.
The night still sounds like someone's tired accordion,
but what does that matter when ears
still thrum your bosomed drumbeat?
I shawl myself in the shields of smoke and Cisco,
but even these grow thin and cold, because
I can't shake the lingering scarf of your arms.
No such warmth as you.
The watery stars, dripping and dragonfly-winged…
If only I could actually forget you,
but you'd have to forget me first.