when the clocks stopped ticking for three and a half hours
as you--your eyes
cutting my existence to oblivion
watched me shrivel into a corpse--
no vanity, no words
I watched you grow in stature, the Victor,
the cruel Gatekeeper who dangles the keys to the gate
with fleshless, dangling scraps
you caused the death in me to
meet the capillaries in my throat and cheeks and eyes
I sprang at my chance--
the opportunity rage gave me-
to live beyond you.
World of Leonard Cohen forum:
This is my dismissal. The poem is too "something," I'm sure. This is my comment: It was years ago...I never knew the experience of rage until that moment. It's what psychotherapy calls the leap from passivity. It's called using the negative emotion for something good. I was finally able to stand up on my own, for my own. Seems like the generation these days, my two included, don't know what it's like for a left-over, traditionally raised girl of the 60s. We were trained to be docile, no matter what our personality. It's been a hard row, trying to find myself in the midst of the shard. This was my first positive experience in the context of the junk that was happening around me. This man divorced me 15 years later for a blonde. I never did want to go blonde....
