Armen Abalian - photos
PHOTOGRAPHY | POETRY | INSTAGRAM | BIO/CONTACT

POETRY


A selection from the last couple of years...


IOWA
from Post Post

Some people remind me of trees in autumn
Outside a town long forgotten
By those whose cradles were in bigger, better places
Maybe someday the town's name will pop up in their mind
Like a surprise relapse
And then maybe they'll recall
That you were my radar


CONNECTED

High speed through low country
Connections connectors few contacts or contentment
Countless scenarios
Simultaneously stifling
Inflamed stomach demons surfing on waves of acid and bitterness
Last times lingering longer than lost lives look at their locks
Platforms checked off checked out in mirrors still look like a choke-hold
Back to cyber-sifting through serial superficiality
That cold hand again
Trying to build up my ego with it stupidly
Connecting vacuums with other vacuums
Hearts with heat neither of which exist
Haphazard lap dancers in soul chasms
Limited squiggly half-truths written by addicts
I am in that parade
Pandering to promises of a schism break
Eyes wide open, marching


LAST
from L@st Months

A last secret
One final breach
Gently moving your hair behind your ear to whisper
To reveal a new intolerance

"Come here"

You can avoid the house
Avoid the neighborhood
Avoid the city
Avoid our history
Mute, muffle, or murder the memory
But if you want access to any of this
"Come here"
Is your only gateway

I am deaf to any other preamble
No more words, warped and wounded
Washed out or wistful
No more wishes, birthday or bogus
Friendly or furious
It has all been said
It has all been felt
Like a store sample phone, all the buttons pressed a million times without actually making a single connection

No

"Come here"

So easy to save someone from the soliloquy of a summer solitude
Don't try the back doors
I have been weak, but I still managed to bolt them all
I have also closed all the windows
To avoid an accidental whiff of your perfume
Or an accidental chorus of a song that reminds me of you blasting from some car for three seconds as it drives by

No

"Come here"

Say this, or don't say anything to me ever again
It's that simple


GHOST
from L@st Months

A weak impulse, and even weaker knees, eating, drinking, sleeping, swoosh, ugh, reaching, folding, stacking, rituals, dreaming, singing, quiet first, progressively louder, trying to scare, this ghost, does not bang doors, or make the floors creak, or appear, human, or otherwise, just moves through me, like I wasn't even there, such ease, like there's some kind of determined resolve, behind it, but there isn't, it's just chance, boredom, in that other realm, not really playful or pitiful, one day, some day, she'll get used to it, she'll know, she can't connect, only haunt, until then, swoosh, there she goes again, maybe, she knows, already.


SUNDAY FUNDAY
from L@st Months

Bad decisions in good weather
Fatigue, long lasting like a post-apocalyptic drought

I walk past a dirty patch of grass, polluted with discarded bits of life, beer bottles, dog shit, an old sweater that could have been taken off at the moment of some drunken or even sober illumination

I think that if the grass were cleaner, I would have lied down in it, face down, breathing the earth, getting ready for that day, one could say

Eyes closed, I would imagine life on another planet, a reticent reality where I could bid adieu to all these overbearing obsessions

A planet of muffled sounds and eternal moon-lit scenery that stretches beyond past, current, and future neuroses

An ideal place, but one that can only be imagined by one person at a time


FIGMENT
from Love Poems

I came up to her and was brave

A bravery born without a hitch

My nerves too preoccupied with voices from the past

I nudged her and then just floated away

A brief flash before fading into the flood of darkness

Another figment of her imagination

An unsuccessful attempt to materialize again in this city, on this planet

In a painless reality that smells of freshly brewed coffee and a lover’s neck


A.S.
from Love Poems

Some nights I woke up next to you and saw you looking at me

Or vice versa

Which areas of your mostly hidden, hard to decipher inner world were you wandering around?

Lush mountain landscapes of green and purple?

Deep desert valleys of red and broken beige?

Or were you lost in some nondescript, fragmented reality, looking at me, trying to tell me you couldn't find a way out?

I never asked, I was just happy to have you there, next to me.




(c) 2017-2018 Armen Abalian. All rights reserved.