Making up for lost time

Ahoy!

This summer has taken an interesting turn. Working full time has meant that in the time I have off, it's very hard to motivate myself to do anything other than exactly what I want to be doing right then. That means a lot of unanswered emails, un-done laundry, and semi-abandoned blogs.

Luckily, writing has held it's place on the list of things I actually want to do. Editing, however....


So, here it is-- a group of poems from the last couple weeks, still very much (and by that, I mean entirely) unedited. We'll see how this goes.

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sitting in thick grass, discussing
superman and tightrope walkers
I feel a softening around the edges of myself
as my body fades into earth and atmosphere

perhaps this is why I touch you, almost
with a sense of panic—
that I need a place in which to disperse,
that if I don’t my body will be lost to the vast spaces
of this world
that I hope you will collect some of me
and carry it with you, perhaps inside a pocket watch

we are more space than substance, aren’t we?
debussy said that music is found in the spaces between notes—
is that why clair de lune is so powerful? because everyone knows
the passage that sounds like rain,
it is unrelenting, it does not yield
to the silence of music

but I like your voice, and
the whatness of you
the spaces between your ideas captivate
I like knowing that the pushing of my body
will cause yours to push back
I like to feel your release,
to kiss your temples as you bury your head
in my breast,
to feel the freeing of our thoughts slowly
becoming each others

and to the extent that I have choice, I choose this—
I choose the roaches and the apartment where the bed is only yours
every other night
I choose your anger and your small hypocrisies
each of your toes
and the twin moles, mirrored across your spine
nestled in the small of your back.


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I try daily to follow my limbs,
the impulse of my body
vibrant and infinite

the knots of muscle fiber slowly unwinding
releasing the clenched breath of my body
into the atmosphere, into the ground—

my thoughts float above me,
generally; with you I gnaw
until the string begins to break



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freckles punctuate the type
that i have set into your body,
fallen eyelashes enclose the parenthetical
moments of uncertainty and
disparate ideas—

somehow your body moves me
we both admit it is not a remarkable one
but it makes me feel like I am slowly expanding
from the inside,

and the drugged delirium induced by lilacs
becomes the feeling of wanting you


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the heat of summer presses outward from my skin
it is gentle
it occasionally beats
i try to listen to it, follow it's pressures
down rain-drenched streets and
past cracked pavement
and windows fogged with age
full of both desire and unknowing
marching to the blue door on 152nd street



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I see the ghost your body leaves behind you in the air
when my eyes follow your subtle movement
a flick of the hand
the push of your toes

there is something soft and subtle about you--
I find it in the small of your back
and the scars on your palm.

I marvel in the arcs of your body
and even across large spaces
feel mine shift to match your shape--
[galaxies, pulling each other apart
across lightyears]


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