CLXIX.
March 7, 2013 § Leave a Comment
for a close friend,
Thank you
for administering such raw, unsolicited, immeasurable love
Your speech endows my hearing;
your dress, my sights;
your fragrance, my ancient faculty—how olfactory nerves yearn, impassioned!
Against long distances
ambitions intertwine us
CLXIV.
January 28, 2013 § Leave a Comment
lightness, a memo
Calvino highlights cosmic irony, hilarity
from silent city, I read Italo
my friend naps elsewhere
nimble creature, eyes shut away
receded, withdrawn — in sleep, we meet
illuminated tales dreamt a peach tree, a hill — reserved
for us, resultant of longing
Moon, Waves, separate
natural ways, we gravitate
CLIV.
January 7, 2013 § Leave a Comment
cocooned torso
warm, very warm
my friend sews its torn pockets
grunts, arm raised, needle-point at ceiling
bites thread
laboring
CXL.
November 5, 2012 § Leave a Comment
Since we cannot communicate
here is where I sit
Numbers do the talking, the doing, the presence-making
here is where I live
CXXXV.
November 3, 2012 § Leave a Comment
Watching films of stars receding and stars expiring
planets consumed
elements exhausted
matter compacted, clouds buzzing
It’s okay. Holding you, it’s okay.
CXXXI.
October 31, 2012 § Leave a Comment
It nags, pulls here; it is not the impulse to write but
you sleep; I write
is this not true? Or am I deceived?
Skin of my bones, my muscle, my egg-carton of organs (cook, crack, split them; they expire, they spoil; all it takes is time)
all it takes is time and these nights fade
you sleep; I write
there was a life here, was there not? Out here floating off is a boy
a balloon missing its weighted-piece –
not “decorum” because my inflated form does not belong up here
not “decorum” because the wind whipped it about, scuffed the plastic, wore-down the edges
faded; all fades as these nights are closing
in, around — I am deceived
you sleep
I write
CXXIV.
October 13, 2012 § Leave a Comment
I am typing from an unreachable space. Here, you are sealed off from the immediacy of the emotions coursing through my nerves, exacted by (oh, as I have referred to them as before) these interpreters made of bone and flesh and all that is invisible to me unless I were to peel these layers back until an emptiness revealed itself, until the void creeping into my thoughts as of late is revealed–
you should feel alienated by my words now. Good. It is best this way. The relationship we are forming is too knowable…You read; I live, I write; you read…How are you living? Well? Not-so-well?
If you are not familiar with this manner-speak, please, humble me by allowing yourself entry and entreat your mind to wander; do me this courtesy and I shall offer a heavily contemplated experience. I offer you honesty.
Here, you are sealed off from knowing me. You know the words. That is all I have anymore, really (do not mistaken this for pitiful remarks of Self.) It is true. The words say what my laughter and my new pair of shoes and my haircut and the artifacts on my shelves cannot.
CVII.
April 17, 2012 § Leave a Comment
And already the calming effect of illustrating my doubt is easing over and through me; the sounds around me, silent, the colors of the sounds now rendered to shades; already, the immediate world has slipped from my awareness although I persist in writing of it; somehow, it is gone from me; somehow, I am gone, too;
(what I can best recall from those previous of Numbers is a whirlwind of terrible diction; I am adamantly striving to correct it)
somehow, I am becoming the constant state of revision; I am becoming the Corrected, the Commodity, even; somehow, I am shrunk to letters, to confined meanings, to the Page; somehow, I am found here, and you must see what I see
but you never see what I see (although I paint it for you)
as your eyes are not my eyes;
your sight is your own;
we perceive a dark hallway the way our own separate cognitive Selves perceive it;
yet, somehow, we make up the Whole. Together, All, we are Oneness
and I must remember this if I am to survive this mind of mine.