January 13, 2009

This is Not a Poem

Grabbing hold of signs
I eloped with a girl who danced on a pole
and her cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold

We wandered lonely as the crowds
who float thru ticket gates to trains
when all at once we wondered how
we'd ever reach our place the same

Thru familiar roads we tarried
lost like highways thru fields of dust
I remember how we met

Shall I compare it to a summer day
Block locked parades of children riding mopeds thru a hydrant's spray
then you looked at me
Told a story with your eyelids,
leaking tears of passion onto your paper plate
at your cousin's 30th birthday

You were chewing celery
talked of getting your distorted chi unraveled
Two dimples between your ears,
I kissed the one less traveled

You spoke of rivers
as I watched the crystal stair in your mouth glitter
We were together all that summer: Me and my Jones

I used to watch her while she sat scribbling parables
and triangulating blue notes
for those whose mornings were murdered dreams

I watched for Jabberwocks and jinns
while she taught my infant words to swim

water water everywhere
but not a word to think
I felt with sound, I dealt with sound
creation on the brink

We were not in love
but i craved her
as if i could be reborn of self
through that knowledge.

And I shall never cease from exploring
but now the ocean of sound is a depth
not an expanse.

and i go down

to all the creatures
living beneath the mirror of water,
that I might find paradise's garden
and become planted by it.

I will leave the rivers of Babylon
at low tide
and walk deep into the sea
and hold my breath until You come to me beneath the waves.


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