Spore Sense

13th December 2011

Post with 1 note

Good to Gray

its funny how a day can go

from good to gray

and back again like a gradient.

how, when you said you caught me bird watching

i was only trying to hear some new music

and if its warm enough now for hearts to settle

with butterflies in stomachs

then your golden curls can dance

a duet with spot-lit dust.

so he asks himself: how does the air have the nerve?—

the answer: because she wants it to.

what is meant to be

my mother taught me

is a redundancy. 

so if it is warm enough 

for hearts to settle

it is warm enough for silk cocoons

and tissue paper covers for old wounds:

strong enough to greet the day

(or weak enough to fear it)

quick enough to make a change

(or take a year to do it)

but after this storm passes

i will still be here,

picking up fallen fractions

the divisions of desire

the simple pieces left behind

like eyes closed in the dark,

because the blind don’t see nothing, 

they see the space behind their heads

and if i am supposed to feel nothing

then it goes against everything I’ve ever read.

you came to me like an air raid siren

so first, i had to learn to duck and cover.

but I promise that when we’re alone,

i want to pull the air into my fingers

and scream a note in perfect unison

with the hum of your body.

i have been told that nothing is perfect.

i know the sensation of no certainty.

i know the quiet conscience that talks back.

i know the meaning inside each pause in a whisper.

i know nothing is too perfect a word.

but darling, this is no garden of earthly delights,

this is a midnight neon street.

though you are a still greater eve than anyone i’ll ever meet.

i’ll struggle with prepositions and past participles

stumbling through worlds on walls

hoping each moment might be the greater than

the one I just left,

because mind cannot separate from body 

so easily

or be lifted over matter as quickly 

as one might think.

but there is a solution she tells me.

and its: 

put more faith in people.

they stress

the same way

you do. and each moment

has weight until breaking

the same way everyone feels like faking

that they are the only people

who feel anything at all.

so i’m learning to go slowly

walk down snow covered streets

while the sun pokes through clouds

to warm my feet

taking each step in context of the one behind

until the tissue paper peels off like an orange rind

caught by some wind and lost;

but there is a riddle in each solution.

because if it’s warm enough now

for hearts to settle in absolution

then it’s warm enough to test my mettle

and start a revolution.