My left breast vibrates insistently, midday
a Morse code: ._. . ._ _.. . _ _.. …_ _ _ _ .._ … (rendezvous)
there is no silly sentiment in the urgency of your texts
no imagined fantasy of candlelight and rekindled romances.
Whisper her: “I miss you’s…’”
Growl I: “Fuck Me’s…”
Guttural and moaning are the only ways I recognize your voice. Save
the subtlety for her; reserve the hotel room with cash for me.
Have no expectations of coherent conversations
or afterglow spooning; no hopes for exhaling
“I love you’s…”
And I’ll quiet my snickers as you lie her beguiling “sweet dreams”
and scream when you balance me quivering a secret you can’t keep.
Making Arrangements
Mesopotamia
I have daydreamed of you
my palm cupping the underside of your earth. My hand
impossibly perfected your diameter, molded
to your curving horizon.
Three heartbeats in sync...
I find myself cradling you while you cradle
life; call me Atlas enamored with her weight
call this the new geocentric galaxy and I'll be a faithful satellite;
or keep my arm pretending the Euphrates and Tigris, enveloping your fertile valley.
Pact
-For Gee and Ness, R.I.P. 2/25/2010
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH! / a train hammered by— / a teenage girl screamed // “This is a deeply fearsome thing / we’re not wired for it; our bodies will recoil…” // nothing romantic about broken spirits and broken / bones. Nothing romantic about thundering trains. Nothing // fixed by balancing on third rails; tangled limbs and steel. Forever / hugs, last instances / as the train barreled it way south.
I read this article: Teen Suicide Pact
and this is what came from that...
National Poetry Month - Day 30
Is there a sort of death in stillness?
In silence? In turning in on yourself
so much so that you are translucent. Poor
translucent stagnation; this thing that won't allow us to step forward,
we can't always be circling the same decisions.
There are no answers lying in the shadows of circumferences.
What we need is what we dream
desires
those things we have forbidden ourselves from...
National Poetry Month - Day 29
Another late one...this is almost over, but until the end of today...I'mma keep on truckin...
I could be the Mad Max of the mornings
unconciously pressing the petal
I jerk forward, feel myself streaking
the pre-dawn feels collapsible around me
I know it's not, that there are things that might be sturdier than myself;
I haven't met them yet, still aware they might exist.
National Poetry Month - Day 28
I can't imagine if your words held any beauty
because your mouth perfected a sneer
a scar across your face. I'd already lived this present
past tense on what I knew you were saying
though you'd somehow gone mute
or I went deaf, suddenly. We'd stopped speaking
the same riddles months ago. Tongue-twisting a lie to fit the scene of the crime.
I would ask for mercy if it were yours to grant.
You play executioner in bedsheets
a cop to my increasingly convincing robber. I think the bad guy wins
today. I think I stole your heart and got away...
National Poetry Month - Day 27
I'll leave the baggage you tried to make me shoulder on your front porch
between the potted begonia and the dying fern
I hope you recognize them;
if you don't they will surely recognize you
and your handwriting scribbled on the tags
and the scent of you or moreso a scene like dying.
National Poetry Month - Day 26
I have been under the weather since yesterday....here's yesterday's poem:
Exhaustion
means I'm pass the point of caring
about the complexity of the webs we weave
or wove in the past with a passion
National Poetry Month - Day 25
Designing my own desires
I give firm voice to exactly what I want. Not questioning,
no wish or hope. These are the things I cannot give up
a dream from which I can't re-awaken.
National Poetry Month - Day 24
The sun is disappearing behind these white plastic blinds
I barely notice the stress my eyes are under
reading by twilight. I strain to maintain this connection
to something else; words bigger than myself. I can't help it:
I built dreams on a story...
