Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Insomnia After the Conversation


I wrote this poem around 1998.



Insomnia After the Conversation

This is whole,
right here, right now.
Kill me then. I can't breathe
with the night bearing down
and down, giving birth to nothing
but minutes.
I know. Pain now, wisdom later.
f that. I've only got one here,
one now. The grand lie:
I breathe, eat, sleep. I can survive.
Enough.
Make all the whiteness disapper; I can't take this
void.
Your voice. You convinced me no one is real.
Good job. now I believe in death, in loss, in change.
I hate you, or what I've made of you, full of messages.
Damn. Where's the source? Where's the all?
My pillow is flat. The blankets twisted.
The moon is too bright. I can't sleep.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

You, me, the moon



You, me, the moon after the fight

The moon swooned
like a drunken sailor
dipping his hand into the sea.

What's imported
as the water laps
into dreams?

Getting lost
one way or another,

The sailor flips his palm
like a giant fish;
pale fingers glint wet
like gills.

The boats disappear
into the sea,
into the dark sky and night.
They drown in the orange moon's descent.

We follow.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Fraught

 
The world fraught with snow

makes its way slowly towards Spring.

Sun is no small thing.