the text message -

some dull small hope
some decision not to feel
some anticipated ending
some understanding of the real
some gram measure of resignation
some despair
some desire
some pierson on the bookshelf
some momentary lies
to myself.

some sense of the best of me
awoken after dormancy.

some reluctance to admit
defeat.

some sorrow
and some thankfulness
some motion
and some acceptance
that it was not
meant
to continue
past this
solitary point.

some feeling that it gave too much happiness
and that intensity
would burn
some of me
and all of he.

some leaden knowledge
that there would be no
we.







LS
2.6.09

the drumbeat, the bullet, the unknown -

you’re true
because you cannot see yourself
and the way you part the air,
shimmer,
menace my every sense with the musky
glamour
of your sex
and rambling tonic of your eyes.

the feral taste of your mouth on mine,
the pine and curl of fetlock
and haunch
are violence to my life.

your slow lope behind me
as we pass in to your bedroom
kills my voice
even as your arms surround my chest
and I dissolve
into some carnal
blood-filled
creature.

and for the first time I feel my pulse.
and for the first time I taste the metal.
and for the first time I am unknown.

and all this makes my hands tremble as I drive
away.

and makes me wake,
dry throated,
sore.

and I am afraid,
not of what you have turned in me,
but of what truth
I can not name.



LS
1.04.09

gravitas -

I will not ask you to explain.

when the moon tears at the seas,
calling with some force that we have tried to define
as “gravity”,
I hear instead the echo of sadness
in her light
a keening against the distance between her surface
and the reflective shimmer of the saltwater
below.

I have seen, and never questioned,
as leaves and petals and the injured
drop
as if summoned by the earth
to return
now
home.

I have felt the sinking and the rising
in my own chest
when you enter the room.

I do not need to know of circumference or of apogee,
of lunar cycles or the time between
when we touched
and when we met
and when I knew.

every night, I close my eyes beneath the moon
that I was born beneath.

and I now know why I have been drawn to the sea
and the air
each night
in my dreams.


LS
1.04.09

travelogue -

I am building a list of things.

not objects
but densities,
better described by touch
than by words.
things I would like to die
within.

buried beneath water.

enveloped in limestone.

entombed by cloud-light.

few things in a lifespan
remain:
stone,
water,
the presence of change.

at the palacio duhau, staring at the gardens,
I wish your voice were among the things
I list.





LS
11.13.08