so softly in love
with all those windy moments
blown quickly away.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Hangover
Last night's frantic voyage
(pizza joints, stoplights, spinning stars)
gives way to this morning:
corked lungs, stomach slick like salad oil,
blood filled, filtered,
drained of cheap wine.
A long sore gullet, a long clear head remain now,
they cannot be traded for last night's blur.
This body stands limp, glassy, an empty jar.
Today has been stitched to the cuffs of the coat
worn warmly
beneath autumn's disheveled yellow leaves
and cool marble sky.
(pizza joints, stoplights, spinning stars)
gives way to this morning:
corked lungs, stomach slick like salad oil,
blood filled, filtered,
drained of cheap wine.
A long sore gullet, a long clear head remain now,
they cannot be traded for last night's blur.
This body stands limp, glassy, an empty jar.
Today has been stitched to the cuffs of the coat
worn warmly
beneath autumn's disheveled yellow leaves
and cool marble sky.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Ride
Perched, precarious, I hold his sleeves around the corners,
barely balanced on the slight suggestion of handlebars,
his lanky knees at my straining back.
Our faces side by side I enjoy the pavement disappearing
beneath my feet dangling like heartstrings.
My hair gets in his mouth, we giggle just a little,
he wheezes once going up a hill.
And how we glide! faster than my brain can turn,
beneath bowing trees that hold the stars
above this gravel-ground night.
Of all the things in the world I want,
I only want this to last,
each instant growing brief and perfect
as we slide home
to the end, a few blocks closing fast
this moment
our faces side by side
2 am riding on his bike.
barely balanced on the slight suggestion of handlebars,
his lanky knees at my straining back.
Our faces side by side I enjoy the pavement disappearing
beneath my feet dangling like heartstrings.
My hair gets in his mouth, we giggle just a little,
he wheezes once going up a hill.
And how we glide! faster than my brain can turn,
beneath bowing trees that hold the stars
above this gravel-ground night.
Of all the things in the world I want,
I only want this to last,
each instant growing brief and perfect
as we slide home
to the end, a few blocks closing fast
this moment
our faces side by side
2 am riding on his bike.
October 7th, 2008
On a day like today
a man I haven't met
will sit beside me
eat onions and white rice,
break fortune cookies,
watch the rain.
One of us will make a joke
as small and damp as the sunlight today.
We will be quiet
and slowly grow dry.
There is no day like today,
only other days
to sit and drink
cup after tiny cup of tea.
a man I haven't met
will sit beside me
eat onions and white rice,
break fortune cookies,
watch the rain.
One of us will make a joke
as small and damp as the sunlight today.
We will be quiet
and slowly grow dry.
There is no day like today,
only other days
to sit and drink
cup after tiny cup of tea.
Friday, October 3, 2008
October
One day
I will not get off the train,
leaving my bed unmade and Scorpio
slung across my shoulders.
I will count my change,
catch the bus down town, some town,
eating the freedom of a one-way ticket.
One day
I will wrap my ankles to survive a long trek
in withering shoes, carrying goldenrod seeds,
scattering milkweed as knees brush sumac leaves.
My bags have been packed for years,
each day they grow lighter,
like sidewalk chalk in the rain.
One day
I will shimmer like sunset.
Old Jack Kerouac, let's split a piece of apple pie-
you know the weight of nothing in your pockets.
Tonight let's sleep in the musty lungs of a haystack down the road,
let's sleep dizzy with hunger, pricked by raw rotting gold (one hundred thousand spikes
of the railroad we've found ourselves to ride).
I know in the morning you'll be gone.
I will not get off the train,
leaving my bed unmade and Scorpio
slung across my shoulders.
I will count my change,
catch the bus down town, some town,
eating the freedom of a one-way ticket.
One day
I will wrap my ankles to survive a long trek
in withering shoes, carrying goldenrod seeds,
scattering milkweed as knees brush sumac leaves.
My bags have been packed for years,
each day they grow lighter,
like sidewalk chalk in the rain.
One day
I will shimmer like sunset.
Old Jack Kerouac, let's split a piece of apple pie-
you know the weight of nothing in your pockets.
Tonight let's sleep in the musty lungs of a haystack down the road,
let's sleep dizzy with hunger, pricked by raw rotting gold (one hundred thousand spikes
of the railroad we've found ourselves to ride).
I know in the morning you'll be gone.
Invocation
I have never written a poem to God.
Father of verse, we climbed those secret nights
twitching, sighing, (on) high...
you scratched your beard and my pen
exploded.
Midnight blew by obscured by leaves
as we tried to stay awake.
It was easier to dream
with wine in our cups.
God - allow me to be filled.
Heaven is a white house with narrow stairs.
When I try to find that place again
I do not know the address,
remember,
you always showed me the way.
Father of verse, we climbed those secret nights
twitching, sighing, (on) high...
you scratched your beard and my pen
exploded.
Midnight blew by obscured by leaves
as we tried to stay awake.
It was easier to dream
with wine in our cups.
God - allow me to be filled.
Heaven is a white house with narrow stairs.
When I try to find that place again
I do not know the address,
remember,
you always showed me the way.
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