Skip to main content

Correspondence (nonets)

every night my friend I write to you
between workstop and complete sleep
I make the day into words
people into pictures
hard things into thoughts
I know you’ll read
that helps me
write it
down

every morning you write back to me
you’ve had a night to sleep on things
you’ve had a night to dream in
your bright-eyed day begins
your life unlike mine
our selves unlike
yet we write
and learn
still

all day I carry your morning words
all day snippets come back to me
I answer you in my head
by nighttime when I write
most is forgotten
I am sleepy
it gets late
words go
blur

we toss ideas into the air
they come back to us fast and slow
now we are covered in them
I learn of the not-me
What would Heather do?
there is a world
we stalk it
talk it
full

this is another night now my friend
again the day has gone headlong
I write of dance, edits, groups
you’ll write of paint, dog, run
we talk of people
we talk of selves
see through eyes
not ours
strange
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

even better

even better than the writing is the not writing even better than the rooms are the hallways even better than the fingers are the missing rings even better than the cookies are the empty greasy spots on the baking sheet how will I know, she wondered, and her backache said, just start but where should I start, she said, and her sore feet said, right here and when do I stop, she asked but there wasn’t a good answer even harder than the aches are the wants even harder than the fists are the open hands even harder than the waiting is the being even harder than the trees are the countless, nameless, hopeful flowers I walked over a bridge, she said I opened a letter, and I learned something new I closed a book, and I missed so much I sat on a bench, and I laughed even older than the sense is the nonsense even older than the aches are the hollow rooms even older than this poem is the waiting even older than the end is the constantly shif...
1 comment
Read more

Alakazam

All of a sudden the bakery All of a mouth the creature All over hot the driveway All out of pocket the pickers All over town the regret All of a piece the rumble Alakazam, the belly All over now, the shouting All of us masked, this peacetime All over shy, this spring All of the worst, over now? Always already the bakery
Post a Comment
Read more

Small pleasures (landays)

There comes a time when the well rings dry When the mothers and fathers live in empty houses When the day turns an unseen color When the letters we send shred themselves to confetti There comes a day when the trees grow tired A time when my bones walk slower than my memory When the signs don’t know how to read me When the comfort I get comes from counting surely down There comes an hour when we just stop short When the world streams by in all its hot cacophony There comes a moment when all is well The pebbles are smooth, the babies are rolling fatly When the roar of the unthought, undone Lets through ribbons of song from the basements and attics
Post a Comment
Read more