M/K, a reply
Okay, aris, I just had to reply! This is NOT great literature. I'll probably delete it tomorrow. ;0)
Title: "One Thing"
Fandom: X-Files, M/K
Note: Reply to arisblue's fic The burial of the dead. Mwah! There are two Frank Bidart quotes buried in this tiny work. Fun.
* * *
"The dead only know one thing. It is better to be alive."
--Full Metal Jacket
No. Mostly I'm just bitter. It's a cold, bitter thing, but at least I have knowledge. Now that the rind has been peeled off of me, I can peel the rind off of everything else, and look! there the sunrise, there the vampires, there the past!
Knowing all secrets, I can't say I'm surprised by you anymore. I twist, languidly, in the currents of the air, while you keep stalking the earth and making terrible bargains, slipping away into the cracks of the world, retreating into pathless country. I can't wait to see you again, old demon, when the skin has finally been pulled off of you--flensed, scales cleaned away to the soft white flesh underneath, tiny-boned, gilled, supple, ocean-breathing. I got your number. It's good to have something to look forward to.
Listen. Watching the red sun cross the blue world, red rain, red veins, blue shade, blue trees, indecipherable except to us, the inhabitants of that old god's house: I wish I were living. I would have done everything differently! If only you had rescued me!
Next time, rescue me.
It's strange; I've met your ghost. You'd died once already, and come back, Lazarus-like, but part of you stayed. Your ghost and I watch you, and feel pity. Pity! I'm so cleanly buried, and you keep pulling yourself out of the dark earth, skinless.
Next time, rescue me. Everything will be better next time... Next time I will eat your burning heart.
* * *
(Dante, Vita Nuova)
To all those driven berserk or humanized by love
this is offered, for I need help
deciphering my dream.
When we love our lord is LOVE.
When I recall that at the fourth hour
of the night, watched by shining stars,
LOVE at last became incarnate,
the memory is horror.
In his hands smiling LOVE held my burning
heart, and in his arms, the body whose greeting
pierces my soul, now wrapped in bloodred, sleeping.
He made him wake. He ordered him to eat
my heart. He ate my burning heart. He ate it
submissively, as if afraid as LOVE wept.
--Frank Bidart, Desire
Hmmm. The poem is actually longer than the fic. Argh!
Title: "One Thing"
Fandom: X-Files, M/K
Note: Reply to arisblue's fic The burial of the dead. Mwah! There are two Frank Bidart quotes buried in this tiny work. Fun.
* * *
"The dead only know one thing. It is better to be alive."
--Full Metal Jacket
No. Mostly I'm just bitter. It's a cold, bitter thing, but at least I have knowledge. Now that the rind has been peeled off of me, I can peel the rind off of everything else, and look! there the sunrise, there the vampires, there the past!
Knowing all secrets, I can't say I'm surprised by you anymore. I twist, languidly, in the currents of the air, while you keep stalking the earth and making terrible bargains, slipping away into the cracks of the world, retreating into pathless country. I can't wait to see you again, old demon, when the skin has finally been pulled off of you--flensed, scales cleaned away to the soft white flesh underneath, tiny-boned, gilled, supple, ocean-breathing. I got your number. It's good to have something to look forward to.
Listen. Watching the red sun cross the blue world, red rain, red veins, blue shade, blue trees, indecipherable except to us, the inhabitants of that old god's house: I wish I were living. I would have done everything differently! If only you had rescued me!
Next time, rescue me.
It's strange; I've met your ghost. You'd died once already, and come back, Lazarus-like, but part of you stayed. Your ghost and I watch you, and feel pity. Pity! I'm so cleanly buried, and you keep pulling yourself out of the dark earth, skinless.
Next time, rescue me. Everything will be better next time... Next time I will eat your burning heart.
* * *
(Dante, Vita Nuova)
To all those driven berserk or humanized by love
this is offered, for I need help
deciphering my dream.
When we love our lord is LOVE.
When I recall that at the fourth hour
of the night, watched by shining stars,
LOVE at last became incarnate,
the memory is horror.
In his hands smiling LOVE held my burning
heart, and in his arms, the body whose greeting
pierces my soul, now wrapped in bloodred, sleeping.
He made him wake. He ordered him to eat
my heart. He ate my burning heart. He ate it
submissively, as if afraid as LOVE wept.
--Frank Bidart, Desire
Hmmm. The poem is actually longer than the fic. Argh!