Tuesday, May 26, 2009

An Apology for the Mess

From 30,000 feet
the sight of some river
could only make me cry

In dirt and desert growth
the memory of the river
encased me in the persistence
of water fluidity as
some sacred measure
though all I care for
are your limbs painfully
absent at the sight of the
familiar landscape

You cherish some stability
I can't squeeze myself 
into your stoicism
as though the absence
of tears signifies 
a timidity of ache

I haven't hurt as much
looking down at the
gridwork of lights knowing
my body is hurdling 
thousands of miles away
from yours at a speed
that horrifies me

This fact makes me 
want to vomit

How can the Hudson hold me
like it once could when 
it is the desert that broke 
my body and is crying
out for my presence 
to continue with the breaking

The instability is the only part
that makes sense
in the wake of this

To stand as some solid mass
interrupts my transience
my capacity to curl tighter
around your ghost

Please forgive me
I am a series of implosions
There is nothing as foul
as the gnawing
blistering ache
of the body propelling 
at top speed
from the only other body
it cares to acknowledge

you are the only 
other body

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