Pain
It stings the soul.
It pinches and pulls.
It burns like lava.
I would banish pain if I could,
but I can’t.
A fool tied to the wheel of fortune
Touching genius from a distance.
He will never meet modernity
But he will never lose dignity.
What does a wise man make of eternity?
Around him the wheel of fortune spins,
Touching ignorance from a distance.
I sit and I stare
At the blanket sitting
On the futon
In my basement.
I hate to think
If it was shaped like you,
It would affect me
Even less.
You.
You were the one
Who touched it last.
You were the one
Who wadded it up
And left it hanging
Half on the floor.
You were the one
To not only make a mess
Of my basement,
But of also
My mind.
And I may be a hermit,
But you havent
Talked to me
In 22 days,
And you haven’t touched me
Or my blanket
In 35.
I want to wash it;
Throw it away,
Burn it to ash.
But I’m scared
When I pick it up,
It will smell
Like your cologne.
And instead,
I’ll wrap it around me
And inhale it’s scent,
Letting it stiffen me
To sleep.
I’ve washed my sheets
And my pillowcases
3 times since
You saw me last.
But I know
I won’t be able
To rinse you off
Of me for good.
And that’s why
I sit and I stare
At the blanket sitting
On my futon in my basement,
Where you made love to me
The very first time.
And I watch it rot.
I let it rot,
As I feel myself
Decay
Right across from it,
And watch
You
Take another thing that was once
Mine,
And watch it decompose
Right before our eyes.
When shit happens, pull yourself up
by the hot air balloons you keep on call
in your mind. Let them rise above lobe
& skull, head for troposphere’s auburn glow,
stratosphere’s cobalt, mesosphere’s cyan,
the deepening purples of thermosphere
& exosphere, until you hit that black
opaled with the remains of stars.
Then drift in solar winds. When your eyes
tire of caressing the roiling red of sun
& striped yellow of Jupiter, kiss starlight
Goodnight, wish it a good morrow & descend
until you brush the tips of oak & pine, bask
in the blush-petals of magnolia, & finally
crash into the moss beneath, come to rest
among earthworms shifting loam.
Afterwards how shall you speak of your journey? Wear
sparkling nebulas around your neck like a diamond
dust choker that flares stellar nurseries—those
violet pockets of collapse & birth—
into being when you speak.
Shakyhand shading eyes,
Having been inside
and felt it, enveloped, like
a secret poem wrapped
in scented paper
sealed with wax,
sent with a kiss on raven’s wings.
Her flight a fleeting memory
over oceans and high ridges.
undaunted, the undertow
of ripped currents, nor gusts
of stout derechos, nor flames
devouring forests, nor avalanche
of melting ice, nor quakes
or mudslides or the great flood
to end times can cast out
the pure intent of those lines
composed with tears, torn
from a notebook with such haste,
that sultry summer day.
the fragrance of skin on skin
wrapped in a warp of time
lovers scramble
not to waste.
My happiest days were knee deep in that creek
Skipping stones while listening to cars overhead.
We weren’t supposed to go through the tunnel
Where I could stand up straight under the road.
Where my voice echoed if I dared to speak
Where the darkness stretched forever
Beyond that two lane road lay a primordial world
Every rock and every tree belonging somewhere else.
Where I was the trespasser, wary of dogs who roamed there.
I left behind the dark pools and cascades in the shade
Of mock apple trees, their twisted bows
Lying low and heavy with weird fruit.
I left behind shale shelves lining the creek bed
Ancient libraries holding lessons
Of the fossils and crickets who lived there.
On the other side, the creek was above ground.
Brown leaves lay gently along her slopes
And though she marred the ground,
She did not dig trenches.
The leaves and trees covered her knees like a skirt
Instead of leaving all her bones exposed.
The dogs were free, unbound by fences.
Boundaries marked by other dogs
Boundaries I could not tell
Except for the low barking
Those short fast sentences
Warning away trespassers.
