Fall at 34
Seasons turn,
and in the turning –
gingerly, I balance
those transitions and in betweens –
moments that announce
themselves
only through the absence
of what was there before.
Delicate, precious spaces of time where I meet myself, suddenly as if another person, changing...
More than any linear chronology or narrative,
these transitions
provide a fulcrum for unfolding:
epiphanies
that axiomatically leverage the path of my life.
And although my story
may change
with time –
those things that I would tell you –
these turnings
remain with
me, somehow crystallized…
Lying on the bed,
my head in the crook of my arm,
hearing that Anna had died,
I couldn't cry
I couldn’t feel anything
but queasiness in my stomach.
The bitter taste of the Guinness,
on a late night drive for no real reason,
as he said that
I had never seemed
to need to be taken care of...
or things might have been
different.
Affectation
What it is
that you do to me -
even with out the benefit
of proximity -
holding me
somehow to you
while thousands of
miles distant...
Where I am -
a strange space of
fantasy -
and for at least a small period of time,
you seem
everything
I've ever wanted.
None of this is natural, yet
that makes it all the more vital.
And neither you nor I –
this much I mark as true –
are so idealistic
as to be distracted
from whatever
may be
our reality
when it manifests.
Yet where I am,
right now,
while you are still
possibly everything –
such moments
are enough for me –
even well past
whatever truth might
eventually weight us down.
Nature strives for balance, yet
it is the chaos that drives her.
"You Are Here"
Where does it all go, when it goes
where it's gone?
And my mind flashes back
to a nite -
Steve and i
were bedding down,
partied out,
that nitecap of snorted X
stuck somewhere
painful by
my left eye,
under the skin...
and we're grokking
on the glow
in the dark stickers
of the galaxy -
planets and stars
luminescent -
adhered to the wall
by my bed...
and I say
"ok, do you know where you are?"
Steven,
pointing to the one
that was big
enuff
to blurry see,
"I think itz that one…"
"Steven,"
I say -
because itz true -
"That's Uranus."
Some One
Someone follows everything I do
interprets what it means
about me
and who they are to me.
Someone thinks about me all the time
accumulates vast reservoirs
of illicit
connections and associations.
Someone believes I am flawless.
Someone's so much
into my head
there's hardly space for me
alongside their fantasy.
