| des_ark, you break my heart. |
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| somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
-e.e.cummings |
| |
| fire is motion
is motion growth? |
| |
| my heart is so big right now it could burst.
wooden hallways and bicycles
how Seattle feels in summer
the Sound swallows the wooden spires
that bend and stretch into the sea
winter belongs to michigan
mitten-shaped and tireless tires
tired in Dearborn
sleeping behind a Kroger because the cops watched the Wendy's parking lot.
but mostly
how Seattle feels in summer
and how I can never go back there
grey house, grey house
the ones that lived there
turned it out. |
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i carved two coffins
out of wood
for my kin
in the hallway
of the National Guard
we found his name carved in the stone
and his father
how he wept for him
he found him hanging by a rope
oh my Lord
how much more
can i take
i carved two coffins
out of wood
with my hands
i carved two coffins
out of wood
for my kin
|
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