Just beneath the lump in my throat
Lie all sorts of good intentions,
But I swallow them down with chai latte,
Feeling mostly guilty and slightly free.
The price of all of this is nausea—
A wave of purple illness that surges
Upward, reminding me of past decencies,
Things I don’t care to remember when, while,
This flush of rebellion infuses my cheeks
With a satisfied pinkness.
I curse beautifully—those raw, peeled back
Words foaming over my tongue,
Bubbling comfortably in the atmosphere of conversation.
Laughter isn’t forced from my throat,
But bursts forth in fountains of absolute mirth,
Letting you in on all my hidden vices
That now simmer slightly on the surface of my skin.
AD--3/13/04
Ache.
My body, my soul, whatever part of
Me that can be touched
Aches.
I knew Lonely as a child
But now we are lovers and
Icy cold tendrils of possession
Wrap around me
And the deep, dark nighttimes
Are all I know of intimacy
Given freely with a price
By Loneliness.
Poetry is supposed to be delicate
And filled with subtleties
That provoke the reader’s imagination
And all the accompanying emotions.
It is never supposed to spell out
Exactly what the poet (I mock)
Means to say
And yet here I am (mocking) spelling
It all out so that my reader knows precisely
What moans in me, through me, without me.
Ache.
My body, my soul, my mind.
Whatever part of me that can be touched
Aches.
Freely.
Fiercely.
I am no one and everyone.
I am Me and I am You.
I wish I knew who You were.
I wish I knew the same of Me.
I only know Lonely.
No one can save me now.
My body, my soul, whatever part of
Me that can be touched
Aches.
I knew Lonely as a child
But now we are lovers and
Icy cold tendrils of possession
Wrap around me
And the deep, dark nighttimes
Are all I know of intimacy
Given freely with a price
By Loneliness.
Poetry is supposed to be delicate
And filled with subtleties
That provoke the reader’s imagination
And all the accompanying emotions.
It is never supposed to spell out
Exactly what the poet (I mock)
Means to say
And yet here I am (mocking) spelling
It all out so that my reader knows precisely
What moans in me, through me, without me.
Ache.
My body, my soul, my mind.
Whatever part of me that can be touched
Aches.
Freely.
Fiercely.
I am no one and everyone.
I am Me and I am You.
I wish I knew who You were.
I wish I knew the same of Me.
I only know Lonely.
No one can save me now.
AD—2010
fragment
You can find me
In the dark—
In spoonfuls,
With withered hands
And nightblack eyes
And this—
My too-full heart.
AD—4/30/12
The veiling of the moon
Last night
Caused my mind
To wander as I watched her
Shrink behind the callous Earth's
Shadow.
She belongs to me, you know--
My sometime sister Diana.
And as she dons her shadow cloak
It is then that we
Are one.
It is then that we
Mirror the other
For as she is overshadowed
By the earth's reflection,
So am I eclipsed by the
Ingratitude of man--
The ignorance of his
Ultimately
Inferior
Opinion of how my life should be--
And how my heart
Should feel.
It is only when we wear our shadows
That Serene and I are one--
For I am the moon
And the moon is in me.
11/29/1993
Last night
Caused my mind
To wander as I watched her
Shrink behind the callous Earth's
Shadow.
She belongs to me, you know--
My sometime sister Diana.
And as she dons her shadow cloak
It is then that we
Are one.
It is then that we
Mirror the other
For as she is overshadowed
By the earth's reflection,
So am I eclipsed by the
Ingratitude of man--
The ignorance of his
Ultimately
Inferior
Opinion of how my life should be--
And how my heart
Should feel.
It is only when we wear our shadows
That Serene and I are one--
For I am the moon
And the moon is in me.
11/29/1993
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