Magic.
Freckle constellations and wirey hair-
I kiss your nose because your mustache hurts.
I love you, I love you.
08
I wrote this poem a few years back, with different words.
What do they call that? You know, when many words have the same meaning?
Anyway.
That’s how I feel about you. That no matter what I’m thinking, no matter how many words I use…
I will forever say the same thing.
Dust.
I woke up this morning, and the sun cut perfectly through my window, the dust just suspended in the rays, shimmering like glitter. Shimmering like broken moon rocks stuck in orbit.
0HEART is EARTH
Those eyes of yours. Those clear paned windows, that perfectly reflect your knowledge and love back to me, like your iris’ are made of stained glass and I can only admire the artist, whose last piece was you.
And your body, a whole universe under the skin. The planets are connected by your veins, carrying the life from your heart, which is Earth, to the ever-growing galaxy of your mind. And your freckles, map out all of the constellations, to mirror the sky above us.
If your heart is Earth, then your soul is our Sun and all the words that come out of you, make the two of us one.
0Sunday.
I watched the ice melt on the glass,
as the smoke trails pass.
Bicycles.
I rode with no hands and lit my cigarette. I let him ride in front because I didn’t know where we were going. At the bottom of the hill he put his foot on the back tire to slow down and I squeezed my breaks tight. We sat waiting under the red, with eight cars back. We were leading the race.
I thought about how about the first time we met and he was thinking about something else. Maybe the poem he was reading about before we left or maybe I’m not right at all. The cars went straight, when I asked where we might go. His sagging chain clunked and pulled tight when he pushed hard to get moving. I wobbled behind him trying hard to get between a car and a sewer-cap.
We were somewhere on our way to someplace else and it was the most beautiful day in Rochester or something close to it.
0Why didn’t you stop me?
I thought about taking off my shoes and socks and staying awhile.
And how antonyms could turn my life elated, if I were a book.
I thought about the holes in my pockets.
And how that time I lost a new 20 dollar bill and that someone else has a lusterless piece of paper, thanks to my holes.
I thought about our conversation last Spring.
And how much you hated it.
I thought about that time I fell and scraped my knee, I was scared to cry in front of you.
And how it didn’t even matter.
I thought about how it’s never mattered,
And how we’ve never mattered.
It didn’t bother me that much but I lied and said it did.
I thought about how you would never read this.
And how at ease that made me.
0Electric.
dancing with strangers.
eyes as big as moons.
Paper
Yesterday, I laid next to you with my head in the pillow. I told you I wished money wasn’t real. You said “me too”.
It’s the first time I really felt like I meant what I said, like nothing else said could’ve been more real then that.
I think you felt the same way.
The Rabbit Hole.
We put our hands in front of our faces
and made pictures frames with our fingers.
The sky was opening up for us.
The record ended long ago.
I pressed my temple against the palm of my hand, breathed heavily and told her everything I meant to say to him. My throat billowed with all the tears I constrict.
I’ve always been guilty of that mistake, informing the misinformed.
Not that it matters, I’ll never be able to reword this stomach ache, I’ve had it for months.
You sat there silent, folded arms.
You let me tell you everything, but you couldn’t even listen.
So now I’m trying not to listen but I’m so afraid I’ll miss something.
Don’t waste your breath on words I’ve heard before.
I must confess we’re talking for no purpose, I’ve already made my mind up.
Everything used to be so beautiful and nothing hurt.
My wine glass is cracked and empty.
Early Mourning.
- The rain told me where the holes were in my shoes. I’m too sentimental to throw them away.
- Overreaction is my worst enemy, but I’m not sorry.
- I left a boy in my bed, tangled in last nights sheets alone.
the art of psychology. the psychology of art.
My head hung backward and my feet laid flat.
I thought of one thing, and then another.
If only my pencil could be as moved as my heart.
Maybe if I did one less scribble, something would be different.
I just can’t do this anymore.
We are not the same, as we used to be, the lead and I.
I love you, but this just isn’t working.
Out of Place.
Everything doesn’t fit anymore.
West coast has my heart, and the east has my soul.
I’m torn and I’ve got holes in my eyes,
I want to sleep a thousand sleeps and never dream of the bad things.
Just the big things.
0Dear Someone,
I stood between two buildings and lit a cigarette, I don’t know why but the rain makes want them.
We sat there for moment, we smiled and started walking again.
He said “I heard, that the faster you walk in the rain, the wetter you get.” I contemplated that, but it was cold and I didn’t really know how far we had to go.
I stopped under a tree, and the ground was still dry beneath it.
When it’s raining, it’s pouring and everywhere seems so much further.
