If I were going to be with someone
I guess I’d be with you.
I’d have to unlearn the ways of solitude, I suppose,
and meld my skin against something
more solid than the steadfast dark.
But to take your small sips of mellow observation-
for that, and other small occasions,
maybe I’d change.
Pulling pants on in the bleak, chill morning,
seeing how your hair settled and arranged
around eyes too old
for a heart-shaped face.
Watching you take it in
the way you must have taken it in at age 5-
thinking, weighing, deciding-
choosing to be silent. Feeling the kindness in that
as I sidle apologetic
through your door.
There’s such a wait in you, such a patience;
such an assured thing, but I feel your delicate,
your parent wisdom
set among bird-feather bones.
I will bring you home flowers
to bemuse you.
We’ll eat soup.
I’ll show you what I’m good at.
In an odd moment
I can let go of who you could have been
and who I could have been,
for in the odd moment
I’d be admiring of
what we seem to be.
what we’d seem to be If I was with you, because
I guess I’d be with you
if I were going to be with someone.
I was going to write something, but stopped. The other night I wrote something and took it down again. But that wasn’t enough: I took down others, divying up and ultimately tearing down great mastadons of self expression.
I survey the ash and rubble with satisfaction.
There are other works on here that have been condemned. They’ll soon go under the wrecking ball.
It’s interesting to think
later, I could try and reference myself
and be unable.
Isn’t that beautiful? We live in an era of excess words. If someone should happen to do the improbable and bite their tongue, they quickly go and talk about it elsewhere, the act punctuated with a hushed and underlying horror, like some trauma has been visited on the once bold and articulate soul.
“When he said that, I just shut my mouth. I turned around and walked away. I didn’t say a word… not a word.”
Well you have now, you said twenty. And then reiterated.
Imean_they_ reiterated. You’re blameless here, for this miniscule meanwhile, before the process gets turned around and churned out again. You are the generous party, taking it in.
. . . . .
Bring the wrecking ball, sign the papers.
I have exposed myself, and,
I need a tan.