Tag Archives: late

That Late Night Brain Stomp – –

Around and around and around
Old music and idiot conversation
Like a heartbeat out of rhythm
Forms a buzzing, blurry halo
Rising smoke of nothing
Rays and waves that bounce
From sharp corners and dark walls
And back again ready to be relaunched
Peristaltic contraction of noise – –

Heavy breath of jittery loneliness
Smoke in your eyes, smoke in mine
And a warm electricity
From the higher belly
In a sharp arc up the back
Spreads from the shoulders
Tendrils, wings or bloodstains
Jerked up the neck in a sharp breath
And wreathing the base of
The skull to radiate
In rings from a place
Between the eyes – –

I am sunk deep in an amber
Haze that soon will ramp
Up to an electric blue
And lose its radiation
As the evening trudges forward
And slips backward
Like escaping oxygen
Into the closing creeping
Mindlessness of sleep – –

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Here, after

Caught
below my throat
Somewhere between the collarbones, grief in a hard cold knot

The smallness and isolation,
alone with you
awake

The ‘oh’
of your breath
lost in roaring stillness
tumbled across that silent gulf
wrecked on my back, soft around the shoulders
vulnerable to the hoped-for and dreaded bridging strike
of a murmured word, or the electric touch of
fingertips spreading, to gentle
the landing of a soft palm
to draw from my chest
the sluggish blood
of doubt

Inhabit all of me
with the fire of you
together and large and
awake with me
to go
with you
to sleep

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Eight Days Late

Pen, Ink, and Page on a three-thirty thursday,
The gentleman taps out his thoughtful review
Taking some effort and care with his diction
Intending, by writing, a love to imbue

“My dearest” begins it, with no written name
Blank space for his uncertain intake of breath
“I confess that, of late, I have loved you in dreams;
Waking, for me, has become like a death.”

The letter flows well, a clever composition
Allusions and similes thoughtfully placed
The Gentleman’s hand, in a quick, steady rhythm
Ensures that he matches his words to her grace

Well on into friday the Ink and the Paper,
Inspired by the Gentleman’s visions, enmesh
Until with a weary but satisfied smile
He sets down his pen, certain of no regret.

A Ribbon ties all of the pages together
A Rose slipped between to enhance the effect
Ink, Pen, Page, Rose and Ribbon tuck carefully under
The Gentleman’s arm, his missive perfect

Then nervously stepping out into the day
The Gentleman muses aloud to the street:
“I’m in love with her, here’s my confession in Ink.
I will carry it with me until we should meet.”

So the Gentleman and his Ink, Page, Rose and Ribbon
Made five fine companions, all knowing of this:
Somewhere was his love; he had seen her while sleeping
And he will be ready when he learns who she is.

(c)2010

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