Thursday, October 1, 2009


Some daysI could become birdsong.
Like the thing that unwinds
The morning from the night
And sings the tilt
Toward evening back again.
I could be desire
That takes shape inside breast
Pitched out in voice
Harmonious and sweet
Like syrup…
Some days,
I know how planets feel
When they know they’re about to die
The way stars ache
Before falling into themselves…
Some days,
I feel like something beautiful
Dissident almost,
Like the arc of his stance
Like movement under sheets
Invigorating like a silhouette
Against the paned glass,
Stilled in both body and thought.
Some days,
I long for some
Poetic astonishment
Of human understanding
In the line of his back.
When eyes open…
Feels like reading aged pages
Of a thousand books;
Fairy tales and politics alike
And I believed every word.
Some days,
My wild expressions
Express something other than
Love or hate;
A morbid sense of duty, maybe
Some days,
I have a look so real
You could build it.


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