I see a half-life here, half-life destroyed, half left;
half right left to build upon,
half born of the destruction of its before-life.
half born before the after-life,
I see before the birth of the self, the death of the self.
Shrouded in the beauty of breath
I reach over and stroke your hair in the dark
you sleeping, and holding, and crushing me.
I close my eyes against the darkness,
darkness into darkness,
and I hold my breath
and imagine how it feels to be dead.
Now, I can't see you but I feel you there.
Your body keeps mine warm, hot in this summer weather
but I sweat contentedly here with you,
not bothered to be alone
and I wait for you to wake.
I say your name out loud and you wake just long enough to pull me farther into you
(, I need you so much closer,)
pressing my sweaty body into your sweaty body,
holding on so tightly I cannot move.
But I don't want to.
So I breathe again, deeply the warm air, and close my eyes.
I cannot see you but I know you are there.
I cannot see you but I know you are there;
here in the dark we lay together
telling secrets without speaking,
touching and wondering
and answering and knowing
alone together in the dark,
dark in this light,
and light in the dark heat,
holding and asking and wanting
but waiting and knowing and asking
(I'd rather be the one that loves than to be loved and never know.)
And now, I can't remember ever hearing you speak.
Surely there were words, but they must have been few
and, inconsequential?
It is the silence that has broken me
not speaking when not necessary,
but maybe it was.
It must have been
because without it, the rest is broken
Now I sit cross legged and floating over this city
suspended in the half light,
sitting in the silent heat, this time alone.
30.9.09
15.7.09
The Meaning of LIfe
by Nancy Fitzgerald
There is a moment just before
a dog vomits when its stomach
heaves dry, pumping what's deep
inside the belly to the mouth.
If you are fast you can grab
her by the collar and shove her
out the door, avoid the slimy bile,
hunks of half chewed food
from landing on the floor.
You must be quick, decisive,
controlled, and if you miss
the cue and the dog erupts
en route, you must forgive
her quickly and give yourself
to scrubbing up the mess.
Most of what I have learned
in life leads back to this.
There is a moment just before
a dog vomits when its stomach
heaves dry, pumping what's deep
inside the belly to the mouth.
If you are fast you can grab
her by the collar and shove her
out the door, avoid the slimy bile,
hunks of half chewed food
from landing on the floor.
You must be quick, decisive,
controlled, and if you miss
the cue and the dog erupts
en route, you must forgive
her quickly and give yourself
to scrubbing up the mess.
Most of what I have learned
in life leads back to this.
14.4.09
A Prayer for the Self
by John Berryman
Who am I worthless that You spent such pains
and take may pains again?
I do not understand; but I believe.
Jonquils respond with wit to the teasing breeze.
Induct me down my secrets. Stiffen this heart
to stand their horrifying cries, O cushion
the first the second shocks, will to a halt
in mid-air there demons who would be at me.
May fade before, sweet morning on sweet morning,
I wake my dreams, my fan-mail go astray,
and do me little goods I have not thought of,
ingenious & beneficial Father.
Ease in their passing my beloved friends,
all others too I have cared for in a travelling life,
anyone anywhere indeed. Lift up
sober toward truth a scared self-estimate.
Who am I worthless that You spent such pains
and take may pains again?
I do not understand; but I believe.
Jonquils respond with wit to the teasing breeze.
Induct me down my secrets. Stiffen this heart
to stand their horrifying cries, O cushion
the first the second shocks, will to a halt
in mid-air there demons who would be at me.
May fade before, sweet morning on sweet morning,
I wake my dreams, my fan-mail go astray,
and do me little goods I have not thought of,
ingenious & beneficial Father.
Ease in their passing my beloved friends,
all others too I have cared for in a travelling life,
anyone anywhere indeed. Lift up
sober toward truth a scared self-estimate.
2.3.09
A Color of the Sky
by Tony Hoagland
Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,
driving over the hills from work.
There are the dark parts on the road
when you pass through clumps of wood
and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,
but that doesn't make the road an allegory.
I should call Marie and apologize
for being so boring at dinner last night,
but can I really promise not to be that way again?
And anyway, I'd rather watch the trees, tossing
in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.
Otherwise it's spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves
are full of infant chlorophyll,
the very tint of inexperience.
Last summer's song is making a comeback on the radio,
and on the highway overpass,
the only metaphysical vandal in America has written
MEMORY LOVES TIME
in big black spraypaint letters,
which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.
Last night I dreamed of X again.
She's like a stain on my subconscious sheets.
Years ago she penetrated me
but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,
I never got her out,
but now I'm glad.
What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.
Outside the youth center, between the liquor store
and the police station,
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;
overflowing with blossomfoam,
like a sudsy mug of beer;
like a bride ripping off her clothes,
dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,
so Nature's wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
It's been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.
Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,
driving over the hills from work.
There are the dark parts on the road
when you pass through clumps of wood
and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,
but that doesn't make the road an allegory.
I should call Marie and apologize
for being so boring at dinner last night,
but can I really promise not to be that way again?
And anyway, I'd rather watch the trees, tossing
in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.
Otherwise it's spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves
are full of infant chlorophyll,
the very tint of inexperience.
Last summer's song is making a comeback on the radio,
and on the highway overpass,
the only metaphysical vandal in America has written
MEMORY LOVES TIME
in big black spraypaint letters,
which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.
Last night I dreamed of X again.
She's like a stain on my subconscious sheets.
Years ago she penetrated me
but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,
I never got her out,
but now I'm glad.
What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.
Outside the youth center, between the liquor store
and the police station,
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;
overflowing with blossomfoam,
like a sudsy mug of beer;
like a bride ripping off her clothes,
dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,
so Nature's wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
It's been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.
27.2.09
What I Believe
I believe in love, in love at first sight and at second sight. I believe in being alone and ignoring a ringing phone. I believe in crying and open windows in the middle of winter. I believe in the meaning behind music and the curative powers of throwing up. I believe in hot coffee, walking fast, and not wearing watches. I believe in reading, writing, and thinking. I believe in loud music, ball point pens, and practicing good handwriting. I believe in Storyhill, Paulo Coehlo, and asking questions. I believe in the color red. I believe in hair ties, in trying harder, in bridges, in trains, and in the occasional punk song. I believe in taking notes, reading lists, and making it up as you go along. I believe in saying so when I don't believe in something. I believe in hot water and sad songs. I believe in yelling when you have an argument. I believe that war is evil and sometimes necessary but never glorious. I believe that death happens and that God exists if you believe he does; I do not. I sometimes believe that I exist, and sometimes I believe that I have made myself up entirely, all the way down to the fingernails on my long-fingered hands. I believe in silver shoes, old jeans and thin jackets. I believe in sleep. I believe in black and white and the rest of the story. I believe in covering your face with your own hands and sobbing quietly, even with someone in the next room. I believe in asking why over and over. I believe in good poetry. I believe that what I think is good is actually good. I believe in lilacs, in daisies, and in walking through the grass without shoes on. I believe in falling asleep with the lights on. I believe that I walked in on a friend trying to die. I believe that I have wanted to die. I believe that life is. I believe that life is hard, and wet from tears, and red from blood, and tired from trying. I believe also that life is apathetic to the trying and the fatigue. I believe I think too much and simultaneously not enough. I believe in down comforters. I believe in staying up late and sleeping in. I believe in good posture and driving with the windows down, regardless of the weather.
16.2.09
Listening to post-modern rock with my mother
dazzling crystalline melancholy
blood red wine cellar
damp brown light
quietly rocking chair
midnight blue electric guitar
cinematic masterpiece famous literary heroine
sweetly drying in poetic black waters
shiny silver hand motions
and different words flying through each mind
simultaneously expressing the same thoughts
blood red wine cellar
damp brown light
quietly rocking chair
midnight blue electric guitar
cinematic masterpiece famous literary heroine
sweetly drying in poetic black waters
shiny silver hand motions
and different words flying through each mind
simultaneously expressing the same thoughts
Once Again
once again
and again
the white before me mocks my thoughts
and my tryingness to perform
and the very thoughts I try to keep in line
,that I try to order into a somethingness,
not only leave something to be desired
but leave me
somehow
again.
Once I was standing on the pier of a great lake
and the blue waves stretching before quietly (silently) made promises
they couldn't keep
and though I should have known better, I believed the
impossibilities without trying hard enough
and trying too hard is how I lose the strings
of a somethingness
tied to a time I don't
believe in.
On a dark street in a town that doesn't look real,
(though it didn't strike me as such then; only now in memory
does its peculiar charm reveal itself as contrived).
On a dark street, I remember walking out on my past
and also giving up my future
,once again, from not trying hard enough
and trying too hard, which I used to think was
impossible.
and again
the white before me mocks my thoughts
and my tryingness to perform
and the very thoughts I try to keep in line
,that I try to order into a somethingness,
not only leave something to be desired
but leave me
somehow
again.
Once I was standing on the pier of a great lake
and the blue waves stretching before quietly (silently) made promises
they couldn't keep
and though I should have known better, I believed the
impossibilities without trying hard enough
and trying too hard is how I lose the strings
of a somethingness
tied to a time I don't
believe in.
On a dark street in a town that doesn't look real,
(though it didn't strike me as such then; only now in memory
does its peculiar charm reveal itself as contrived).
On a dark street, I remember walking out on my past
and also giving up my future
,once again, from not trying hard enough
and trying too hard, which I used to think was
impossible.
welcome home
empty headed minded hands
with only now occasional afternoon wine glasses
no more foggy late night listening discussions
lessening coffee mornings
fewer tiredness teachings
reading literature and non literature
and learning to learn about listening to music.
with only now occasional afternoon wine glasses
no more foggy late night listening discussions
lessening coffee mornings
fewer tiredness teachings
reading literature and non literature
and learning to learn about listening to music.
23.1.09
the end of the day
after work,
after helping and walking and running, and wanting
to leave
I leave,
finally,
and after work I go home.
I wander around my small apartment,
adjusting careful organization carefully,
tidying the tidied, and cleaning the dirty
dishes.
I wipe down the walls, and the floors,
and wash the laundry, and when there is no more laundry
I fold it and refold it
and finally put it away.
At last, I sit down,
and surrounded by the emptiness, I sigh deeply,
just to hear the sound of it.
I count the number of lines that make up the shape of the doors
and the two windows in the room;
then I imagine the kitchen window, and I count those lines too.
Finally, with music on,
or news from the radio,
I lay down on this couch,
head back, hair draped over the arm,
my arm draped over my head,
and I concentrate on the noise
to keep from thinking
of you.
after helping and walking and running, and wanting
to leave
I leave,
finally,
and after work I go home.
I wander around my small apartment,
adjusting careful organization carefully,
tidying the tidied, and cleaning the dirty
dishes.
I wipe down the walls, and the floors,
and wash the laundry, and when there is no more laundry
I fold it and refold it
and finally put it away.
At last, I sit down,
and surrounded by the emptiness, I sigh deeply,
just to hear the sound of it.
I count the number of lines that make up the shape of the doors
and the two windows in the room;
then I imagine the kitchen window, and I count those lines too.
Finally, with music on,
or news from the radio,
I lay down on this couch,
head back, hair draped over the arm,
my arm draped over my head,
and I concentrate on the noise
to keep from thinking
of you.