Net (ten)

No part in a high-wire act,
after all,
this net.

Close to the ground,
the balance it maintains is of a different sort.
Rooted in a discovery, an awareness
of its own particular structure,
it is not in the business of catching
falling bodies.
Rather, it holds and lets pass through
all that it should,
in the proper proportions,
according to its wishes,

and in its being what it is,
gently works to correct
any assumption
that its proportions
might resemble those of some other net,
either real or imagined.

But it can never be sure how successful its efforts are
and is reminded,
again and again,
of all the ways that its language falls short.

It doesn't need anybody to understand it, though,
in order for it to be,
for it to do what it does.*

And it doesn't hold onto words.*

*These are lies.
*These are its desires.

I am in a land of strange aesthetics.

My bed, freshly covered in your scent, criss-crossed by our well-worn trails, one to the other...now, in my craving for you, in my stillness with myself, a wide, clean horizon, an expansive geography. Instantly, Siberia.

A game that we played, the honeymoon's over.
That was our joke yesterday.

Laughing to myself at my lovelorn heart and the language it conjures in the night.

Glad to remember your breathing here, next to mine.
Glad for the quiet space to stretch my bones into, alone once again.

Let’s go away together.

X: There are places I want to go with you.

Y: Where do you want to go?

X: New places, old places, places we share, places we make.

Y: I would like that, too. Let’s begin. Let’s go.

X: We can’t. Not yet.

Y: Why?

X: Because before we go anywhere, we need to establish our footing here and understand where here is.

Y: But I don’t understand.

X: Exactly.

Y: No, I don’t understand why you think that is important. Or even possible.

X: We can't move forward until we know where we stand.

Y: Nonsense! We can’t do that, we can never know that. So, let’s just go and trust the ground beneath our feet not to give way and the sun and the stars to guide us on our way.

i wrote many poems and picked this one: poem: I LOVE THAT LINE

i love that line i love that line
i made it with my hand

the line was red
and i winked at myself
and i patted myself on the back

i said, "i swear to God
thats my favorite part."
God heard me
and we both knew it, too.

first kiss

we got out of my west facing room, which always gets too much sun and holds on to heat long after the start of evening. we sat together on my porch, and he told me about fire-flies, bioluminescence, and other phenomenon alien to the cold climates i come from. minutes pass, and we fall quiet. i listen to the breath pass in and out of his nose, and i can almost feel the changes in air pressure on the hair of my arms. and then he leans over, and our mouths press against each other, those cavities of speech, silent still, but now quiet with intention.

this version is way from creation...

sometimes i think my family places magazines in specific places so that they might test me. They want to see if i'll read their magazines. They must know by now all about my reading habits. I have been reading other people's magazines for (probably) seventeen years. ohhhhhh...snapp app appa appa.