2,518 Readings | 5 Ratings
WE TURN OUR ATTENTION TO THE DARKNESS OF INFINITE SPACE
My feelings for you have yellowed
Turkey sandwich, ham sandwich
One man stood for a while in the aisle
No less than three times
His flatulence forced rows of people to cover their noses
With sweatshirts
I tried to make eye contact
The plane had already
Abandoned me
Oh, spewing lawns of Los Angeles
Chip wrappers
Water pumping in from my northern mountains
My friends say they are no happier than I am
The trick to sleeping deep is amongst us
I am among you, finally, as I sleep, unmolested
By dreams
My love for you is in a tin can in my ankle
You approach me like an open newspaper
Everything will be available
But I have to read it, first.
On the cooking show he produced
Beautiful spot prawns
I could literally feel myself
Aging as my chin hung forward
And the poems I was not
Writing flew from my soulscape
Yet I had never been
More content as we looked
Further for terms—
Ah yes, quenelle—
While back where we come from
People are untying our soft
Burdens and some kind
Eyes look slightly away
While others singe red
At the naked fact
Of dead love.
On the bus
From New York to Boston
A woman threw up
Pink pork something
And I stared at her
Like I was the President
Of THAT WHICH SHALL
BE SEEN AND REPORTED
TO THE UNIVERSE
She flopped on the scratchy
Black seat and my phone
Had a dead battery.
I am molting my habits,
But at glacial pace.
Anthem to the wooden
Farm and the wooden animals
Of preschool and to middle
School and high school
And trumpet toots to my comrades
Who I passed in the quadrangle
Of my college campus—
I never knew you—
And to the cities where I grew
Into a human,
Thank you. In the basement
Is a bicycle
I won’t ride.
The men I loved
And the women I loved
Seem like faint purple
Flowers in a universe
That is flowers,
Not stars.
Posted 04/11/13
Recommended
398 views
Comments (0)
|
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.
|
|