everything/ that ever was still is, somewhere
Tracy K. Smith[...] the body is what we lean toward,
tensing as it darts, dancing away.
but it's the voice that enters us. even
saying nothing. even saying nothing
over and over absently to itself
from time to time, i think of him watching me
from over the top of his glasses, or eating candy
from a jar. i remember thanking him each time
the session was done. but mostly what i see
is a human hand reaching down to lift
a pebble from my tongue
Tag: poem
some like to imagine
a cosmic mother watching through a spray of stars,
mouthing 'yes, yes' as we toddle towards the light,
biting her lip of we teeter at some ledge. longing
to sweep us to her breast, she hopes for the best.
listen: the dark we've only ever imagined now audible, thrumming,
marbled with static like gristly meat. a chorus of engines churns.
silence taunts: a dare. everything that disappears
disappears as if returning somewhere.
time never stops, but does it end? and how many lives
before take-off, before we find ourselves
beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?
the hours
plink past like water from a window a/c. we sweat it out,
teach ourselves to wait. silently, lazily, collapse happens.
while the father storms through adjacent rooms
ranting with the force of kingdom come,
not caring anymore what might snap us in its jaw
we like to think of it as parallel to what we know
only bigger. one man against the authorities.
or one man against a city of zombies. one man
who is not, in fact, a man, sent to understand
the caravan of men now chasing him like red ants
let loose down the pants of america. man on the run.
sometimes, what i see is a library in a rural community.
all the tall shelves in the big open room. and the pencils
in a cup at circulation, gnawed on by the entire population.
the books have lived here all along, belonging
for weeks at a time to one or another in the brief sequence
of family names, speaking (at night mostly) to a face,
a pair of eyes. the most remarkable lies.
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