Thursday, February 21, 2013

12.18.12



days like this,
words stump me.
amiss from the pool in the sky—
where poems come from—
(that you already knew)
although it would be preferred
for poetry to uncurl
before me, like the long delicate arms of ballerinas
or bounce gently, and intentionally
towards me upon a warm breeze of late spring—
soft, and yet powerful enough to ease you out of winter's sweater.

words.
words mean to bind me,
in their way confine me.
stick me to my bones
slow growing and groaning
the practices and intimacy of language
holding this expression of me in place
inked on this scrap of paper
for times longer than lips
so keen to speak of liberation
—again—
“this time” for all times.

words come close enough to pain me,
challenge and contain me,
woo and shoo me,
enliven and prove me.
save and damn me
pull me together and loose all my cause.
just out of arms reach, 
they pull me to defy dimensions,
join my heart to God’s
—where there is pleasure, immense and unleveled pleasure—
just to have a handful to arrange...
yes, on this coffee stained page.
they hardly ever come alone
but as thoughts strung together
through hearts to hands to feet
to move my depth,
to lighten my life.

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