Monday, December 08, 2003
~
Another new poem in process, and I feel this one should be expanded considerably. This is what is so far...
Time Elapsing
First, there’s a snowy oval
That might be an orbit or a prison or an aperture
But it’s glass; men are fogging it with biological heat,
And only light can pierce its defiance with a brilliant scream.
When it arrives on the side of their noses, the other sides are silent.
It is there that I wait for you and Hope to mate, wait for
Your progeny to share your morals with their progeny.
Third, there’s a lesson packed like a snowball: the Earth
Is a hateful envoy, teeming with chemicals and tissues and
Histories of destruction.
Ninth, there’s an eternal trajectory to destruction
because we forget to name it before we sprint into the collisions that undo us: eyes conversing across a tabletop, the sharing, the ensuing career called love.
There was never, my other heart, enough language to illumine my soul to You.
I wait for the light to touch my skin, here with silence.
Another new poem in process, and I feel this one should be expanded considerably. This is what is so far...
Time Elapsing
First, there’s a snowy oval
That might be an orbit or a prison or an aperture
But it’s glass; men are fogging it with biological heat,
And only light can pierce its defiance with a brilliant scream.
When it arrives on the side of their noses, the other sides are silent.
It is there that I wait for you and Hope to mate, wait for
Your progeny to share your morals with their progeny.
Third, there’s a lesson packed like a snowball: the Earth
Is a hateful envoy, teeming with chemicals and tissues and
Histories of destruction.
Ninth, there’s an eternal trajectory to destruction
because we forget to name it before we sprint into the collisions that undo us: eyes conversing across a tabletop, the sharing, the ensuing career called love.
There was never, my other heart, enough language to illumine my soul to You.
I wait for the light to touch my skin, here with silence.
neige
Snowed-in on a duty-weekend isn't a bad scenario: Dickinson basketball, fervid ping-pong, and dvd-marathons; plus, I got to show off my northern New York winter driving skills when we broke out of the campus under Sunday sun.
I've been prolific lately. Here is the first of a trio of new poems. Comments solicited.
The Proposal
After are noses are close enough
to smell each other smelling each other
we follow the gutter of sewage out of the
parking-lot and through the obscene woods
stranded between on-ramps and overpasses--
city trees--until it finds grass and wind.
we follow past silt and salt and pebbles
our hands become a tightened scroll as we
pace this tenable muted distance, past beach,
past branches baring, past bricks and barns,
past greens lost to my color-blind eyes,
past all the angles of the sun as the earth
turns away in a huff, past the need for language
it's here I ask you
Snowed-in on a duty-weekend isn't a bad scenario: Dickinson basketball, fervid ping-pong, and dvd-marathons; plus, I got to show off my northern New York winter driving skills when we broke out of the campus under Sunday sun.
I've been prolific lately. Here is the first of a trio of new poems. Comments solicited.
The Proposal
After are noses are close enough
to smell each other smelling each other
we follow the gutter of sewage out of the
parking-lot and through the obscene woods
stranded between on-ramps and overpasses--
city trees--until it finds grass and wind.
we follow past silt and salt and pebbles
our hands become a tightened scroll as we
pace this tenable muted distance, past beach,
past branches baring, past bricks and barns,
past greens lost to my color-blind eyes,
past all the angles of the sun as the earth
turns away in a huff, past the need for language
it's here I ask you
