Tuesday, January 4, 2011

We Say Things That Are Unsayable and Mostly True

Hello friends,

Here is a new poem for you. I'm quite pleased with it. I named it "3 Mile", but I'm not entirely sure I like the title. So, here you go.

I have so many thoughts inside
Standing next to the reactor at 3 Mile Island
My hand mirrors yours
And we stare into the depths of the eyes of revolution
With a stringy folk ballad twisting in the air above us
And my skirt making fluttery noises on my leg, now yours
The hurricane wind makes waves in the sunset air
Teaching a stray strand of hair to limply lean on my face, yearningly
I turn to you, our eyes lock like bank vaults
And your gaze grabs me like an octopus hug, and we see each other in confidence
We say things that are unsayable and mostly true
And we're falling in love with the brains of dead writers
And we're tasting the sulfur and the ocean on the air like cotton candy
And we're stretching taller, arms spread wider
And we're balancing here on the pinnacle, on a chair balanced on the pinnacle of the point of the highest tower
And we stand as one flesh among the debris
Yard sale of the discarded
Handbags and vending machines and moose antlers and spice racks
Dotted with lampshades and pool cues
And now we are fading, and the music notes fall around us like bombs
But you know, it doesn't matter
Because my hand is a perfect mirror, imperfect
Of yours.


Now you should listen to this song:

With love and reassuring shoulder pats,