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Tuesday, April 21st, 2009
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10:19 am - and this is not a song
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we are accidents of holistic timing,
you know, a bomb shelter filled with the explosive past
and day by day i illustrate my escape
on your warm walls of genuine faith
i promise not to hoard your moments or your sustenance made of glass,
i promise to be your raincoat against the winds,
though my skin is made of paper and my bones are shreds of rags
there are holes in us, i whisper,
and yet you still insist.
we won't see the setting sun tonight,
(but i pray to god,
see me.)
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(2 awakenings | arise)
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9:58 am - i hand you my broken arms and you replace them with wings
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my fingers fumble across your chest, feeling for the unreachable planets that you quietly tucked away. you thread my weight together, pound by pound, ounce for ounce, and sometimes i feel like just a variation of the various terms of endearment that you have inevitably used for every woman you've loved.
it worries me, how many women you must have whispered these words to.
it worries me, how little you might think about your words and what they mean to the woman who not only listens but dissects and inspects and pleads and speaks.
do you know what it does to me?
move me,
no,
move me
not the way your feet move across the dance floor,
but like earthquakes
so that i know my geography is different, that you cause turmoil in my soil in a way that cannot be stopped
and that my landscape is different from your past
my earth is dark now, it is moist
still thirsty,
still foreign.
you are the rain, and for three weeks it has stormed
but still it is you i crave
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(1 awakening | arise)
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| Tuesday, April 14th, 2009
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1:35 pm
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sometimes i'm pouring through your fingers,
avalanches of weight yet the texture of grains of sand
the constellations in your eyes flicker even in immobile light
and when i look into your eyes i see your skies align with mine
we talked about how the treetops meet the sky, and
"had the price of looking been blindness, i would have looked."
i wanted to tell you that, there was this one particular night, (and now every night),
it would have been (it is) worth the price
to look and see the bricks and mortar fall from behind your eyes
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(1 awakening | arise)
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1:33 pm - the same theme
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i name you precarious as you use the entire country of panama to blindfold my eyes and trip my feet because you are all i see. arms holding arms and hands reaching out for hands, i’m not sure or aware or strong enough to really pretend to be
it’s okay though because your spanish comes raining down like sheets of hail and i’m wondering when i can return the favor of your heat.
it’s okay because i’m recovering,
it’s okay because i need to learn the taste of defeat,
and to chew it and swallow it without butter or cheese
hey kids it’s time for justice but
trials are conditional and
we compare notes on survival, and i’m numbering my scars
it’s for future reference, you see.
we’re in denver and these roads are treacherous, the trees are like aching melodies that nod in satisfaction that we are so lost
but the sheets and couch mattress were worse, a jungle of springs, the tequila marinates in my head and i thought i was swimming to shore when really i’m swimming to sea
you’re lovely in sleep, your mouth gaping open and silent as a storm
you’re lovely in sleep. when i know where you are, and your vulnerability lies with me.
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(arise)
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| Thursday, April 9th, 2009
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4:47 pm - borderline
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i believe in the nights, the curtains drawn on the reality of day
and i believe in the timid stars that (only ever so occasionally) peek out like tardy sentinels overlooking the landscape of our sleeping bodies
piled one on top of the other,
restless and tormented with something like desire, or seriousness, or the inability to distinguish the two.
the sentinels awake and disperse the silent tremble in the air,
headboard against the wall,
your hands against the small of my back
i am the jungle and you are the flat, eternal sea
undisturbed for
miles
and miles
and miles of me
this image is for me to remember, and for you to never know it existed-
this is a lousy excuse for meaning- this existential theory that conflicts with how i reach for the open palms of hands that may carry my heart at last - the hands that may carry my bags, my boxes, my things, my heavy hopes at last-
and finally understand that
absurdity beats in time with mine
i am your path untrodden
excessive foliage in all its splendor
my heart wrenches in all the green as i beg myself
don't return to december
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(2 awakenings | arise)
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