5.27.2010

Making roads on maps shrink (or how to travel a lightyear)

Everything now, my dear, will come
your way.
Every last mote of dust
afloat.
Every last spiraling arm
of an island universe.
Every part of kingdom animalia.
Every last plant wilting in submission.
Every nymph singing herself hoarse.
Every lyric thoughtfully written
at the tips of our swollen tongues.
Every square inch of milky white
skin as of yet explored.
Every moaning stream.
Every upended dress.
Every wasted day spent in a field
of tall grass.

Of decades.
Of decades in the making.
Of all the possibilities
and outcomes.
Of all the ways God
can punish a man.
To have you locked
away in a mountain.
Untouchable.
Unreachable.
Every hand grasping at air
and coming up atoms.

5.20.2010

that's the day he took you and left me stranded in the middle of a road I had forgotten existed (only to feel the rain pound tiny holes in my skin)

You were walking down a blown out road
where rebar reaches for the sky
like so many metal fingers.
If I remember correctly, it was
raining heavily that day putting
the world to sleep.
There are blasted trees lining
the road on either side.
Naked trees blasted almost
sideways. All lined up like
giant soldiers saluting their
general.

Roots explode from the loam
pushing skeletons from ancient
sleep.
And above. Oh, above, the sky
is licked by the tongues of
flame. Threatening to burn
us all whole.
Eat the air, my love. Eat it whole.
Houses were husks. Windows shattered.
Windows dying. This is the
process of a God fearing demise.
Life has abandoned the very air
we breath. Puddles form ponds
and lightning electrifies pre-dawn
town.
Your feet shuffle along the blown out
road. Bare feet shuffle along the blown
road, toes and heels lightly touch the
road like PIZZICATO PIZZICATO .


And it was down this abandoned
street you walked. Head held
low, shins torn raw by rebar
that I saw you there.
Like a star at the center of a
dying galaxy. Bright and real
and unfettered.
Hair tossled perfectly, eyes
doleful and all knowing.
Lips curled. Tongue tied.
A thousand seconds pass before
the sun peaks out from pink
clouds. Beaming a blinding, holy
light upon your person.

And up you float. Arms
oustret
ched.
and
out of
reach.
"this can't
be
happening!"
i yell
but
you're out
of ear.outof
mind...
what
a hellofa

way
to
leav e
me.

5.11.2010

the worlds smallest violin

Just above the sound of two people fucking next door I
strain to hear a violin.
And it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard because
that should be the sound of my fucking next door.
But, it is not. I'm here in front of a screen
that people swear can give you cancer.
Trying to focus on the sound of a violin instead
of the sound of fucking neighbors fucking.
What a dangerous thing.

lights and shapes and how you came to wrap your hand around my heart

We're so far away from home
We're poison and toxic
and wouldn't have it any other way.
We're in my car and driving this way
or that on War Memorial and I'm
showing you the city. And you're
asking questions all kinds of questions.
You have a healthy interest in all
the boring buildings that we pass.
Every stoplight a story. Every breath
is my breath.
Nearing the Illinois River we take
a quick exit and head downtown.
You're all words and I'm all love.
Cheeks will grow red and your wet
tongue moving in your mouth and I
can barely contain myself.
You're the perfect day.
Today when I woke up and drove
as quickly as I could to the airport
I counted clouds. And saw us in every
one.

You'll go on how all the corny
outpourings of a heart doesn't fit
me well. And I'll agree over and over
over cigarettes. This time.
This time. I'll beg. And the words
will come out on the page. But the
words refuse to float. Refuse to float.
We refuse to float.
It's lights and shapes outside.
Soft angles and heavy breath inside.
Inside my car where I pretend my hand
slips off the gearshift and brush
legs I've never seen.
A stroke of the brush.