(originally titled untitled e)
i could make myself wait quite awhile at the
r.r. station in westbrook before I felt a breeze
as gentle as your palms. and it would be so
uncommon to note the song that you spoke before
the best transgression I ever forgot just at the birth
of this period of tranquil disillusionment beginning
with the shake tremble foot steps I made and a throat
filled with a rasp very unique to being awake
this side-effect controls those breezes that are not
quite as forceful as your delicacy and far less memorable
than amnesia-induced by your absence. the forgetting
of all turmoil soaked in vinegar (something i care to remind)
sometimes i wonder why i even question your motivation
when i know it is just something you said last time we were
tangled (without touching) and we matched pulses in a matter
of speeches prepared by our ancestors (not that I would try it)
yes, the shuttering yawn of your wits circumference makes me
idolize. and, yet, yes, you. The one who is so willing to be alive.
this fountain of my arms reflects this non-pause of your movement.
so great! to be in love. and vested in your desire!

starting with the first scream of light into your eyes
and the careful catch and lights and box
This is the way the air is shaped when you breathe it
a big punch in the lungs from a fist called life
because so many pieces are in this jigsaw
cutting through you and trying to make you remember
memories that are impossible to connect
until you are stuck playing by yourself
and you just put all the pieces away
like a broken lamp that is not removed
the glass shards cut you up and remind you
how nothing can ever be exactly as you wished
it is the subtle stuff like firm handshakes
that always stay with you in your wrists and ankles
the scares of the slightest wounds
then these alien parents come and claim you
and remove you from these rooms of life
to make you see that life is not a test that can be completed
or passed or even succeeded...
it is not graded. It becomes a forbidden taste
like foreign saliva
that can speak in a voice
of desire that everyone hears
but only those truly alive ever taste
these numbers in our wallets are actually countdowns
and we are presented with senility to replace
the emptiness from the risks we didn't take or we failed
or this numbing promise of finding our soulmates
even though we are all soulless
just driven by pleasures less fulfilling then...
the day we die and we are placed back in a box
where it is dark and quiet
and you can rest without these awful hopes and dreams