Poems 1

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#1. the world is much too vivid for me to handle right now

to drown is to be too alive,
         to inhale too deeply until it burns.
there is no fear, no sadness,

                   just fatigue, and intrigue,
and disappointment.

to reveal is to ruin,
         but to hide seems impossible now.
                             (i can’t let myself, anyway. it is ugly.)

but i know i will.

                                                 i always do.

i will retreat and swim outward towards the sea,
         knowing i will find land soon (or find you)
and knowing that to reveal is to say i’m not who i thought i was,
                             (not who you thought i was)

and am i really okay with that?
                   i hate it,
         but maybe this time i’ll hold up to scrutiny,

maybe this time
i’ll be enough.


but with an awkward first impression
                   comes a toothless smile and a need to get away
so i’ll just find comfort in the stillness of the water
and let it define me
until truth whispers and i have no fears
                   of going swimming again


#2.

the rain is incessant, but somehow i stay dry
                   (perhaps because i rarely venture outside).
the leaves are like photographs in a dusty leather volume,
and the birds who call the branches home
cry out in a single, solitary voice
         
    so loud

                          so, so loud.

        but i can ignore it.

at times the stars will keep me company at night
as i watch the past pour down,
popping off the pavement like corn in a kettle.
         
they wink slyly at me, knowing this is between us.
                   and us alone.
keeping an eye on the recovery, they become what is both
a reminder and a promise.
                   a possibility, or a failure.
so i whisper into their ears, and the birds fall silent.
         


‘this is my intention. and this is my act.’


i have fallen asleep in a pile of pictures, wrapped up in what it is to be alive



#3. (a murder in a wine glass)

if a man is a gun
it’s his lover who’s the bullet
and what good are we with an empty clip?
we’ve got just this shot and we have to kill
because this can’t go on any longer
drawn forward toward the scene
a white chalk body
calls out homicide.
this is my one last shot.
make it count.


steady, steady…





click.



#4. when a smile falls short of the meaning behind it (new year's eve)

like a thin red fault line the cut
              seeps through your shirt, and the threads cling to your skin like the fog
                          a hot midnight in south's midsummer
to question his intent on the stars
                when all the rush leads to nothing
                                                    there's a hush amongst the crowd.
(mon coeur est tout j'entends).                 
                                  as the dancers begin their promenade.
sourire à moi si vous voulez à.
                                    s'il vous plaît.

                    i don't know if you realize what this is like.
                                          mais mon Dieu,
                                                                  je veux que vous ayez su.