Vigil for an Out
Let's workshop this poem that paints a picture of two hypervigilant creatures trapped in a duplex of unrelenting physical pain and mental disquiet, seemingly conjuring a finale that will put them down
scent of the day: Oud Maximus, by Bortnikoff
Oud Maximus (2018, Dmitry Bortnikoff)—a woody-floral leviathan that mixes Prin-level saturation with Bortnikoff-level blending to make for an olfactory power struggle between sacral florality and primal decay arbitrated by muskiness and a thin throughline of booziness—
parades mega floats of rich rosaria (dewy-citrus tea rose, waxy-honey May rose, fruity-spicy Himalayan rose, syrupy-jammy Indian rose, creamy-woody rose attar) in a regal summer procession interspersed with barn-straw pageant wagons of candied citrus (syrupy-bright orange, green-tart bergamot) and piquant spices (Orajel-anesthetic clove, fizzy-rose pink pepper, lemon-eucalyptus cardamom) and creamy florals (sultry-soap jasmine sambac, lemon-wax magnolia, peach-apricot frangipani),
the whole fanfare of vegetation gliding over a burnt-rubber tarmac of balsams (cinnamon-honey tolu, charred-log birch tar, almond-powder tonka, boozy-woody vanilla) and feral animalics (sour-pissy civet, sweet-suede deer musk) and showstopping oud varietals (what everyone came for) that from a distance (especially in the first few hours) give a minty mouthfeel and a mildewed jute rope smell (like we get in several of Ajmal’s farm ouds) but up close to a discerning nose stand out in their individuality:
Borneo oud—cooling camphor, musty wood, spiced vanilla—presenting the quintessential forest floor (damp-but-sunned-and-clean underbrush), where the smell of fallen bat-food (honeydew, raspberries) mixes with clean mineralic notes of lichen stone;
Indian oud—fecal hay, smoky hide, spicy cheese—presenting the quintessential cumin-flecked compost and mildewed rope and musky goat pen where lymph node cysts have ripened to the point of rupture (although what leaking we get, while necrotic and definitely cottage cheese in consistency, comes with minimal putridness, some hints of skatol and clean-feet levels of butyric acid sill far off from movie-theater vomit), barnyard elements that ring loud in the first few hours until the Indian oud settles with the birch tar to give a Russian-leather accord (or what we might call, to pick a region most likely to see a convergence of Russian-leather smells with assam-oud smells, a Kuwait-leather accord);
Sri Lankan Oud—smoky eucalyptus, lemon tea, honey coffee—presenting the quintessential deep-green non-animalic notes that make Triad and Oud Sinharaja such important fragrances in my collection (threatening each day, just sitting there in the closet, even to climb past Oud Maximus in my Bortnikoff ranking), vegetative citrus notes that novices—knowing oud mainly through the Assam variety popular in middle eastern perfumery—do not associate with oud (and for that reason are prone to think of as “fake oud” the same way American-mediated people might be prone to regard nonhypersexual-nonhyperviolent black nerds like Thomas Sowell, who would never twerk at a democratic convention promising more spoiling handout incentives to stay on the plantation, as a fake black);
Vietnamese Oud—sapling stems, sour cream, bitter incense—presenting the quintessential aromatic balance between resinous wood and bright greenery while coming with hints of artisanal cheese and even roasted black pepper that works with the mintiness of Sri Lankan oud and Borneo Oud to yield a numbing mouthfeel—
the overall result being an animalic-floral opus that closes the distance between rose garden and goat pen, the oud blend here nowhere near as wild as the musty-blue-cheese oud of Prin’s Arsalan or even just the olive-brine-compost oud of Bortnikoff’s Lao Oud;
the overall-result being, in other words, a rose-crowned four‑oud symphony that, due to its orange-spice-animalic-creosotic intricacy (likely Bortnikoff’s most Infinite-Jest-level maximalism to date) and especially due to its mélange of ouds (its green-herbal variety dominated by its fermented-barnyard-rubbery-smoky-antiseptic variety), shifts the spotlight toward something far more kaleidoscopic than rose alone (toward something closer to the leathery-perineal corner of jailbait rosebud, jailbait girl not old man) and thereby deviates from its equally sun-bright sibling Triad (whose ouds, aside from the opening little burst of Chinese browneye, converge into a bitter-leafy-vegetal-lemony focus more cleanly calibrated to render rose, sour-green rose especially, in 8k definition).
Vigil for an Out
Muttering through nicotine blinds,
pistol cocked at any car
idling too long curbside—
he itches for prebirth blank
as does his mangy mirror
who barks and bites at everyone,
tinnitus scrambling its brain
not enough to drown out
the joint fires ruinous to sleep.
"Vigil for an Out" is a stark and unsettling portrait of paranoia, existential despair, and self-destruction, depicting a figure trapped in a cycle of fear and internal torment. The poem operates as a **psychological character study**, rendered with a raw, unflinching gaze that aligns it with a **brutalist lyric tradition**. Its power lies in its succinct yet potent imagery, which effectively conveys a mind on the brink.
Formally, the poem is tightly wound, with each line contributing to a sense of escalating tension and claustrophobia. The opening image, "Muttering through nicotine blinds, / pistol cocked at any car / idling too long curbside," immediately establishes a scene of extreme paranoia and defensive aggression. The enjambment creates a breathless quality, mirroring the agitated state of the subject. The shift in the second stanza to the "mangy mirror" introduces a powerful metaphor for self-loathing and internal conflict. This "mirror" is not merely a reflection but an externalized manifestation of his inner turmoil, a "who" that "barks and bites at everyone," including himself. The final lines, "tinnitus scrambling its brain / not enough to drown out / the joint fires ruinous to sleep," provide a visceral sensory detail that encapsulates his relentless suffering. The "tinnitus" suggests an internal noise that cannot be escaped, while "joint fires" alludes to the physical decay and self-inflicted harm (likely from smoking) that further erode his peace.
Thematically, the poem delves into a profound sense of **existential dread and the desire for oblivion**. The man "itches for prebirth blank," a chilling yearning for non-existence, for a return to a state before consciousness and suffering. This desire is so pervasive it is mirrored by his own distorted self-image. The "vigil for an out" in the title becomes chillingly ambiguous: is it a lookout for an escape from his circumstances, or a vigil for his own demise? The poem suggests a complete breakdown of internal and external boundaries, where the man's fear, aggression, and self-inflicted wounds are all synchronously reinforcing vectors within a single, horrifying ecology of psychological torment. It portrays a life lived in a state of perpetual alert, devoid of peace, and consumed by an internal battle that externalizes as aggression and internalizes as a longing for annihilation.
paranoia, existential dread, self-destruction, psychological torment, brutalist lyric, nihilism, anxiety, fear, addiction, insomnia, mental breakdown, self-loathing, aggression, urban decay, contemporary poetry, visceral imagery, internal conflict, oblivion.