up late

I like your head & its hair:
how it's brown, long
black & clipped
rusty & wiry 
past your shoulders & tied back

I like that cap you wear:
it's red & knit
grey & billed
furred with flaps

I think about your hands:
rough & lined
wide, small
clasping mine

I'd like to see you look:
at a half moon
for something in a drawer
squinting 

I feel your face near mine:
it's talking junk
it's sipping a cup
it's near mine.

because it rained today

and I wondered what we would do together on a rainy day.

you would take a picture of me and keep it to yourself, 

like the collection of thoughts I’ve gathered and kept about you.

thoughts imagined, built & stacked. 

I think I could play a song I was embarrassed to like with you around. 
If you hated it, you’d let me know 
(with a groan) 
but you’d let it play 
(because you like it too).

I think I could get you to stay in bed past 9, a few times. Maybe skip a morning cup. 

You’d be reading, me too, but I’d be looking over at you
guilty glances—in the spaces when you weren’t doing to same. 
until our looking lined up
with a grin, ‘jinx’. 
grin jinx--my cheeks would always go rosy at that. 

I laugh & scowl at the same time,
you’d know why. 

it’s easy for me to close my eyes—but I don't think I could help keeping them open 

to look at you leaning over a counter, 

to look at you across the room, 

to look at you sipping a cup, 

to look at you through the window walking away,

to look at you from the car pumping gas, 

to look at you when you’re not there. 

and it's supposed to rain tomorrow too. 

because it's black and the counter is black.

there is a feeling that circles my neck

across the ridge on the back, tight under my chin

another that circles the circumference near the top, where a crown would rest snug. 

like a crown is resting snug, warm. 

the space between these invisible rings is hollow

the space between these rings is full. 

the ridge that extends down my nape is taught with the stuff. 

I feel the stuff crunching as I move my head; up and around and to the sides. 

it's empty under my eyes & cheeks

it makes my lids close

it makes my forehead crinkle. 

trying to get it out through my ears,  those openings are too small. 

it presses--expanding, it shrinks--narrowing. 

periphery and pinpoint won't see you anything. 

I know what I want to do today. 

I don't know what I want to do today.  

how could you find the one thing, if you threw it away. 

if it's thrown away, if the trash's gone out.

if it fell accidentally in, it still got in. 

for wanting ones

wanting something beautiful is easy. loving something beautiful is hard. seeing you in a hat or with long hair. it's long and the strands clump together with the end of the day. 

I've heard that I am beautiful. easy to want, that's hard to love. 

maybe if I really knew you it wouldn't be easy to love you. maybe I wouldn't love you. wanting your beauty is all & enough. I'd rather not know. 

but seeing me--calls me 'beautiful' and calls me 'i love you'. 
he isn't beauty, and he is easy to love. 

I wonder if I could love the beauty (of you) that wanting is easy

and I'd rather have paper flowers, it's too hard--loving the ones that wilt on the sill. 

and loving is too hard. wanting is easy. 

for N

I don't want to read

I want to lay in bed

and think about you

and he holds me tight

holds my hand

and I don't mind

untitled untitled

untitled is
vacant & waiting
scratching & biting
chatting & staring
flecks in resin

untitled can
chat & ignore
stand & hang
inhale & exhale
wait for awhile

untitled will
squint & scrunch
sigh & go
hear & say
forget something

untitled has
walked & looked
closed & locked
held too long 

pocket

I remember how you
held that glass of water
in your right hand
unfolding a bill from
the collection of cards & bits
folded & clipped, then
 stuck into a back pocket

a favorite feeling is that
the crispy dollar bill 
fold-&-shove
into a back pocket feel

for w

we all have a depth

puddle or pool

we all have a depth

sitting or swimming

we all have a depth

pennies tossed or lines sunk

we all have a depth

warm light, cool dim

seen or shadowed

neither best

we all have a depth.

maybe I am.

well, I am. sitting on bar stools, talking to strangers, drinking another glass when the last was enough. thinking I see you at the end of the bar, seeing you in my dreams. squinting an eye. locking keys in cars. blinking and half winking. waking up alone or next to someone I don't care to know. bullies and little guys. dark chocolate stars, white hot moons. writing that poem you thought was for you. writing this for you. touching my forehead, feeling the crust inside my nose. Driving my car. Laughing with my grandma, crying each day to make it complete. pushing a button, pushing buttons. Try and remember the past. memories, imagination.

untitled a

I can't drink that much caffeine without wanting a cigarette
I can't hear that (those) tune(s) without swallowing a throat-lump
I can't pass a twisted tree without thinking of that wandering fall afternoon
I can't think of you without wanting that day of heaven's clouds to be everyday
I can't smile without hoping--maybe you'll be its reason someday

for g

it's nice to think about you.
to see you. 
to get you laughing.

to remember feelings.
to think on days past & passing.
to impress you, to grin. 
to be sad & glad to remember. 

November 15, 2011

"on the train to Vienna, feeling sentimental again. Feeling like I can't write--that maybe I don't care. that I don't think & speak in absolutes--maybe this, possibly that. But I have written about boldness already. I do feel emboldened & I hope it sticks when I get home. There is frost on the shrubbery & bare tree branches. It looks like the trees have lost most of the their leaves here. AUSTRIA. Log factory. Remember the girl that helped me on the street at the bus stop in Berlin? When I think about all the places, faces, buildings, countrysides going by, money exchanges, hellos, it's really overwhelming. It's why it feels like it's been so much longer than 2 months. I want to lock my love somewhere, a big Q in a heart. I feel unattractive currently--I don't have a traveler's glow, it's the traveler's dun I've got. Scabs I keep picking, pale face, pink nose. My glasses are consuming my face & they won't stay up. I like to ride on the train, I'm sad when the ride is over. To travel in the fall feels magnificent."

in a dream last night

at a table we were both standing in front of, you were telling me something like-- you couldn't say what you wanted because you had the 'falling in love feeling'. Your elbows moved down, to rest on the table, head in hands. I think you were looking up at me. I laughed & didn't understand. but then I brought my own head down--forehead on the table top, forearms around. you said, 'see!?' I laughed nervous & sighed into the table. we looked at each other--can I kiss you? you asked. Our heads came close, but our lips missed. Your stubbly cheek touched my right cheek. I wrapped my arms around your neck, fingers at nape. Then my forehead came to your shoulder, we stood, your arms wrapped more confidently around me. We laughed.

to return

to return at day's end to

one that isn't me

one to be quiet with
I'm weary of talking 
I have questions & 

I want to hear your answers
talk, so I can enjoy the sound of your thoughts
to take a quiet walk
just hold my hand--tight
can you know what I'd like
without me saying so

I mean--

opening a window

bringing a glass of water

changing the record 

to the one I was hoping for

sitting close
or far
& being pulled closer

I don't remember the color of your eyes, mine are blue.

When standing 

does your gaze turn down or does it perch above horizon--neck/chin angle acute or obtuse?

On a walk 

do you watch your feet or look at houses passed--miss the surroundings or trip for yer unwatched saunter? 

Are you 

inside or out?

Are your thoughts louder than sounds of the street? 

When thinking

is your brow furrowed or lifted to crinkled forehead--eyes squint to near close or sockets open wide?

Are you 

pressing your lips or rubbing the back of yer head?

Is it 

sunset or sunrise--the moon or the sun? 

Are you

sweet on me?

Because 

I'm watching my feet 

And you're

tripping up

listening to the street

raising brow

seeing the clouds & feeling the sunrise.

I don't remember the of color your eyes, mine are blue. 

reminders

time is time, forgetting about it passing takes it.

say something:

a sorry

an okay

a question mark (exclamation point)

an empty bubble

send something: 

an envelope with worded paper inside 

an envelope with nothing inside-- just to see my name written on the front

a picture of the moon or dirt or a sidewalk crack

a page of a book torn out & folded

  that little Neruda book that went through the washing machine. 

this is years of pretending to like my coffee black

seeing that--I prefer to be (by myself) because I am impatient. I have formed the habit of impatience. 

BUT, I have taken time to know a person (people). And when I do take it, I prefer the company of another to that of my usual 3 favorite guests (me, myself, I). Coming to that place of preference requires time & tenacity, patience & persistence. That's to say it's the effort in that time that gives it girth & meaning. Maybe that's why it's easy to be alone, it's easy to be lost in my mind. Easy to forget that my mind would be a terrible place to dwell if it didn't have the portraits of those encountered lining her corridors &  the framed images of places seen filling her walls. Books brimming with stories of them/you set on her shelves. See this too-- the blank wall space is endless & the shelves infinite,  canvases stark- the palette beside ready with paint & blank books stacked-eager to be inked.
 

I like my coffee sweet but I don't take the time to add & stir the sugar--this is impatience, this is years of pretending to like my coffee black. 

maybe I'll build a dock

Missing home today. Loving this carrot juice, glad to be away & by myself this afternoon. It's easy to be alone. The ease of solitude. The needing of nobody, that awareness, the comfort of my own internal ticker-tape. I can ignore what's said-- too easily--my own thoughts louder. Saying too often, 'what did you say?' & 'I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.' The ranunculus are pretty, in the little terracotta pots on each table.

maybe I'm an island

maybe I'll build a dock

maybe your boat could drop anchor 

& stay for awhile

in a dream last night

I saw you walking by, through a gap in the window's curtain: black cap, white shirt, a twisted string tied around your neck. Between your right hand's pointer & middle fingers: a cigarette. 

of all things

you say, "I'm hungry."
I say, "let's eat."

cups & bowls

white plates
forks & knives.

of all the things
none are black & white
neither do we live in grey
we exist in colors

love is
a meal
together.

so, let's eat.