Bruises From the Jewels

“The sexual obsessions are those of soft swellings and not of hard erections.”

— Salvador Dalí (Salvador Dalí, “The Aesthetic of the Soft, The Conquest of the Irrational,” in “DALI before GALA[:] up to 1929,” of “The Cosmic Dali[:] The ‘Royal Way’ of Access to the Dalinian Universe” in DALI by DALI: Translated from the French by Eleanor R. Morse, published at New York by Harry N. Abrams, Inc. Publishers in 1970; page vii.)

“After all, I am not in the same room as my readers when they throw my books at the wall[.]”

— Deborah Levy (Deborah Levy, interviewed by Arifa Akbar for her article, “‘A mix of vaudeville and David Lynch’: the hit play about a giant rabbit on a psychoanalyst’s couch: Booker-nominated writer Deborah Levy is thrilling audiences with her play about a psychoanalyst dealing with a very unusual patient, seized with anxiety about modern life. She explains how it came about” in “Culture[:] Stage[:] Theatre[:] Interview” of The Guardian, published online at London by Guardian News & Media Limited on Monday, April 28th, 2025.)

“[T]he wall that gives me shade even as I try
to pull it down. The way out,
fitted with a padlock and chain. I’m so full
that every part of me
is now structurally integral.”

— Neil Hilborn (Neil Hilborn, “Sevens Over Kings,” Stanza 1, Lines 41–45, in “[Part] I” of About Time: Poems by: Neil Hilborn, published at Minneapolis by Button Publishing Inc. in 2024; page 23.)

                         i.

The headline read,
‘Narcissus Dead, Drowned
in a Pool
of His Own
Tears,’ I said,
‘Who really cares
how he went?
I’m not the
curator, I’m the
exhibit here…’ Walking

circles around The
Square, strutting ruin
into pyramids, too
self-aware to dare
step beyond the
edge of my
mirror, it’s funny
how falling rock
mocks thunder with
its echo below

of some conundrum
up above, is
this magic or
a show? Some
trick I was
once with long
ago wanted to
know what turns
me off since
I can’t stop

                         ii.

going on about
how it was
having known more
than anyone else
who I was
before I became
Something just because,
a big star
too terrified of
love to let

orbit with me
anybody possibly better
than this loneliness
of getting everything
I manifested yet
never expected or
guessed wishing for
would have gifted.
Since my innocence
was jettisoned my

humility was lost,
now I Am
Who I Am,
not because I
don’t believe in
god, but believe
in being one
way too much,
so if you
read this, Babe,

                         iii.

know that everyday
I miss the
way you taste,
the way you
wanted me even before strangers knew
my face, asking
why I waste
so much ink
trying to say

what they summed
up on the
front page today,
in other words,
‘You’ll never be
the same as
me…’ Maybe there’s
more to living
now than forever.
Soaks through to

the soul to
remember whenever I
forget I promised
to never regret
getting what I
asked for has
a cost, my
reflection’s loss. Bruises
from the jewels
never rub off.