if I could
I would
Poetry
I’m working on writing a thousand poems. I started in April 2015.
Poem #819 – he swims and breathes and consumes
the whale eats with his teeth closed
because he doesn’t want
to swallow
those large inconveniences
ocean trash
tuna
the realization
that he doesn’t matter
Poem #818
ugly is pointless
so don’t worry.
beauty might have value
but ugly doesn’t subtract it.
Poem #817
we sit in the bathtub together
your knees pushing on mine
the soft wave of water whenever we move
that little drip noise when we lift our hands
your hair is slicked back
and your eyes are wide.
the words march out of you
organized, powerful.
like a true revolutionary
I was attracted to you before
but this, it’s neodymium
the only reason I didn’t drown
is because you got up
and grabbed a towel
Poem #816
when I see you
it’s your black hole eyes
that suck me in.
but the gravity of your eyes
is nothing
you are everything
the sweet notes you leave me
your enthusiasm for justice
the way you pronounce “alien”
how you try so hard
even when most people wouldn’t
to be kind and patient
you, your essence,
are a nebula.
a cloud with any shape
you are anything
Poem #815
this sickness
it’s falling
into a vat of honey
first,
you can’t move your limbs
then,
it gets into your mouth
you scream
and the sickening sweetness
it invades you
it’s wonderful and terrible.
you’re in control
but you feel out of control
when it gets to your eyes,
it’s the worst.
you can see what you’re doing
and you can see it’s not helping;
but you can’t do anything about it.
Poem #814
her back smiles at me
a sociable expression across the bed
not inviting. but reassuring,
she’s here
a window looking out
at hope;
swelling
in the heat of my smile
she’s tired
but
she’s finally here
Poem #813
I still love when
the train whistles outside the window
maybe one day
I’ll climb out
in my night clothes
and chase after the noise
on bare feet
reaching out
to curl my fingers
around the cold rust-orange handle.
I’ll pull myself up
with a jerk
and stop this nonsense.
reunite with my childhood fiction
and live without shoes.
Poem #812
Poem #811
oh I wish I was not forgotten
a sad assemblage of ligament
bone
and flesh
oozing outward on a flat table
feigning fascination with the grooves
of the wood grain
maybe an unwitting explorer
will flick the switch on the wall
and shine light on me once again