July 20
Deaf from the show collapsing into sleep you are always in my dreams now felt if unseen like a baseline or reverb or the two words I now hear over and over tú sólo tú sólo tú sólo tú
Month: July 2015
July 19
Another night like drowning– sometimes a tide comes up further than expected and lacking air a body cannot perform voluntary efforts to seek attention– I sink into a drink knowing day will rise again from this watery dark– less phoenix, more albatross, but, any port in storm–
July 18
Should I speak of you in hushed tones? When I say your name it is citrus-bright– people I don’t know are happy for me. My heart is a grove, orange blossoms at night– giddy in the dark, small, but how we betray ourselves, always reaching out to close a distance, to fill the air with scented prayer, first to make time speed by, second, to linger in your arms, I’ll gladly share the space, if […]
July 17
Take this doubt, I’m tired of carrying it– which is not to say that any part of this feels wrong, more that my heart at times gets unhinged as the moth bruising its wings against this glass-paned door– Give me time and coolness and empty evenings, a half-moon, faint stars– I’ll find my way back, again, you know this
July 16
These matroyshka days, they don’t progress but nest one within another, like waking dreams or dreams of waking— And just like that it’s morning, again, in this, some city, unlike others, but also mostly the same, a dawn, a limbo, drinking coffee and trying to name things— this is a Thursday, and this is my home.
July 15.1
As if anyone could prize this happiness away! You’d be better off trying to pry away a snake’s fangs– sometimes it seems as if you don’t even know me. I can’t be shamed– this hunger is holy.
July 15
1. When we are far apart I carry you around like an ache in my bones– bright as the promise of rain ringing out in the callus of a long-healed fracture. 2. When we are far apart I think of you so often that my other thoughts cast shadows– 3. Also when we’re together.
July 14
And then a disembodied morning floating among checkpoints flight conference luggage flight each clock telling me it’s some different time and none quite right and suddenly it seems so apt that lightning only wants to reach the ground it’s unsettled up here interminable and tempting me to strike without warning I’ll call you once I land
July 13
Still no rain outside in little Italy tablecloths flapping like loosened sails– another night falls into red glass lamps a subtle storm shy lightning no thunder only distant sirens and a mournful tenor sax– even with all this I am not really here but am air myself a wind a song unable to be in a place without something to hold me there– someone to see someone to hear
July 12
Alone in this hotel room any city could be outside the muffled lives next door could be anyone’s lives the forecast says maybe a tornado tonight flooding in the lowlands even this fails to rouse me from the crisply-made bed I am just waiting for a word my heart laying open a palm outstretched
OPTIONAL POETRY 