Dec. 29th, 2011

No And.

Dec. 29th, 2011 01:42 am
dreamwitch: (Default)
Somewhere inside, things get warmer
for December, that is, the snow's melting fast--
and I proffer you a tired poem, a poem uphill
walking slowly, drunkenly, trying to talk all night
until we say, "enough" and close our eyes.

*

So. You self-mythologize, they say, and I see
the majesty, the possibility, all the stories you tell and
the ones you clearly hide; too proud to beckon, too fierce
to slip away: I see the hollow places where I could fit
and the hard places I would fall; that's when you'd call me,
at that exact moment: as I leave, you come in.

*

These poems have become 
			a conversation with the negative:
that space you call your own, the vacuum of the possible--

yes, and 

	no, and

everything I'd say in between, like: 'what do you want', and
'do you?' and yet never 'who are you?' 
				     because you know, don't you.

January 2012

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