I told my mother once
that I liked summer camp
because I could tell the counselors,
yet unknown,
all about myself
from the beginning.
So much have I craved
for someone
to see things my way,
to validate
that those too
would be the decisions
they would have made.
That indeed
in my wholeness
I was worthy
of being loved.
Part I—Intention Expressed
When light peers my vision—you enter my mind;
This I tell you in gift: a pocket love song.
Forever I’ll sing words to shower you kind,
Like though far I feel, for your body I long.
Attention I’ll pay you while passing my day,
Though busy the world, I’ll become not content
To presume you’ll understand what I say
Instead I’ll care to express what I meant.
Blast! This seems so severely demanding
(I doubt you foolishly trouble yourself)
but since words are often palavering
why feign falsely that it means something less?
In my mind, you’re here when first I greet the day
and again come night, though you’re so far away.
Part II—Passive Aggressivity Sadly Takes Reign
Pay me attention all throughout the day,
And when the world’s busy, be not confused
Assure me my place won’t be taken away
Otherwise smiling, inside I’ll feel used.
I fear this makes me seem too demanding
(at the very least, so to myself)
but since it is truly what’s happening
why feign falsely it is something else?
When light first appears, you are on my mind,
This I see appreciated in your feeling strong
My mission I carry on to shower you in kind
But I lack confidence, for emotion I long.
Darling, am I there when first you greet the day?
And then again come night? Lover, will you stay?
Ah! To return to
the smell of exhaust,
the sunset of smog
the reason for late nights
the rhyme of alarm
the unnatural undulations
of my urban lungs
A fondness I have
random collisions’ confusion,
the exponential power
of meaningless intersections.
When researching oneself
there is no directory of events
from which to systematically select;
there is no random
survey of life
things rise
like cream
reasons unseen
who was in the room
the time of day, the ray of light
the unisolatable way we’re hurt
is rarely convenient
We are not malls of personalities
sequestered on a clipboard
conveniently differentiated
by colors of tees
we are one
wardrobe
to change
is a challenge
let alone
stratify happenstances.
It would be to know
all the people you were
on the corridor
of your life
that had no walls
or classroom numbers.
What can we do—but digress—
study if your relationship is failing
by studying what feels bad
(you want people who are into cock-fighting
go to a cock fight).
The legitimacy of a sample
depends on what you look for.
Remember,
if there is a plateau,
it must involve time.
Adore your square of land;
learn to accept
yourself.
“They’re all here,†she would say
when another odd thing took place.
Emphasis on the “aw†in “allâ€
as if her mouth
could enclose
the oddity.
But it couldn’t
there was still the man
playing flute on the subway stairs
and the looming third rail
Dorothy who lived downstairs
her mop, vaguely her hair
she died and no one knew for three days
the doorman from Yugoslavia
who owned a building and a black escalade
And of course
she and me
walking to school
amidst stories.
We are tired quiet in the car
talked out
compulsive concerns aired
looming third rail.
In the valley mountains rise siblings unknown
They corral wild horses here,
for adoption I don’t suppose
I could take one
home.
We speed to see
the sun set the lake
water never escapes
terminal end of Tahoe’s tears
evaporating.
“Tufahs†rise
towers
calcium carbonate
underground springs
bubbling up
minerals deposited out.
As the lake level fell,
the deposits stopped
became exposed
around the lake
marking places where fresh water escaped.
The cartography of what is underneath
what once was full ocean
now this.
Break neck speeds
cars explore narrow roads of near collisions
bubbling up ourselves
futures yet
unknown.
Once wild
horses
feed at trophs
At a light a man dances
an intersection
holding an ad.
We move cautiously
across this connection
towards fresh water
amidst termination.
Things are so ordinary
and terribly
important.
Today
a kid
called me
the best teacher ever
and the dean called me Judas.
Someone rolled their eyes,
I ate kim-chi,
my cleavage burnt and itched
beneath my blouse
leftover sunrays dancing.
The gym teacher cried
her cousin died
a drunk driver
and there it goes—
days of anecdotes
untold.
My heart’s mad,
can’t take the layers of levity
adding up to weight.
Heavy
like flesh on a thigh bone
we move through sidewalks
streets of people
unknown
Stop and say hello
Smile at the shadow of vines
Remind yourself today is full
of what could be sadness
but isn’t.
It is
lit and lovely. Smile.
Those muscles know how
to remember that luck is beautifully horrific
and all we can do
is try to trust
how potter’s field
is sewn.
Your cup is almost empty
and your brain is full
with your heart beat, hard beating.
How little I know
still of you,
the thoughts you had,
little boy,
lost like me
growing up someplace
between imagination and
now.
The tissue of time
pre-systemizing
us for today
you in morning
by my side.
They say the beginning was beautiful
moments after
the big bang.
Simpler,
less atomic mess.
It must have been like breathing
when we first wake up
comprehending all there is
in front of us
by the common way we see.
I want to not write
this strange wish
for later.
I want to
not whist
after lyrics
unsung
I wish to be these words
lying on a page
not this body
strung out on
conceptual drugs.
I want to come home,
become the shower
and all ideals of
passionate love.