Posts tagged: June 2011
in the morning, the current swam against the
bowing invitation of my arms. A terrible metaphor,
I can’t swim, can’t tread water. If it wasn’t a dream
I would drown. My last words vague trembling air
carried by the undertow to places unintended.
my body turned to oil and stain,
under the pressure of natural occurrence.
…
I promise you tomorrow, you promise me yesterday.
And you have this well-orchestrated time machine
on your side.
Everything before is assured. Everything after: open
for discussion. Not one word, not a single word,
don’t speak unless spoken to.
No words you can’t yet mean.
…
it was easier, for I crept into a fresh wound,
with promises of love, and pacts of aggression,
I swallowed my tongue, but wanted yours too.
Love could be self-destruction. Annihilation.
It could leave only tatters, strings, and beads.
Or enslave you, in a bracelet on your ankle.
I vowed for our future, but relied on assured
decay of your present. Was there any other
way? Maybe in my nonexistence, water
would taste sweeter. You could take the
open ocean in one gulp. And every one
of these is a love letter. Signed, sealed.
I waited for your reply, but silent within your silence.
For your return, for the words well-formed on your
lips,”
News from the front, there is nothing to stop us.”
…
she’ll take me in, and i’ll take her
from the inside, down through her knees
and these affections, the pleased,
the pleasing taking turns, we are
fitted where she will fill. i am
the begged and begging. She’s long
endured, met at blushed lips
tightened, delighted, to the effect.
…
Looking for where it won’t feel like home.
Where home is missing someone further,
where stranger walls lend their ear,
and blackened windows watch you to reflect.
Welcomed to a house of voiceless noises,
to midnight screams, to lover’s hot mess,
to her softened body. Neighbors fall asleep
we steal their good times.
Leaving home,
Building a house of careful maneuvers in the
path of wayward, darling hearts.
…
Someone left this paved
but I have not worn it well.
And she can be a destination
from a hole in the ground
to a flowing cement fortress of
hardened rivers on pylon stilts.
Here my soul becomes a city,
my city a point where she
rests her fevered eyes, once
again when it’s been too long.
…
