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.

01/03/11

Now you should listen to this song:

With love and reassuring shoulder pats,

Tiffany