soliloquy

i remember you
you were there with me the first time
i sat on a shag carpet

was that the night
alexandra spoke
of fondue
and failed pregnancies?

or was it later
when we all clung
to the white whale
made of fabric,
afraid to let go

i remember you
under florescent light
feeling your chest move
breathing behind me

watching a beautiful film
whose characters exist
even less so than usual

finding your heart
finding my heart
we never did, not quite

we never could
in the fluid of that present
and now i know
that you wouldn’t have
wanted to because
i was your first and last.

again, i think,
it is all a matter of convenience

i know that doesn’t mean we felt nothing
and it's fine. but

i remember you
hair moist and dark and shining
turning away from me
like nothing could be easier

maybe you don’t
or won’t
remember me

but i remember you

halogen

outside, it is burning yellow and orange
on the streets

tomorrow--later today
we will think/watch/cry about sex
and how it is love, or may be

and we will
disallow the touch
because that's what i think you want.
it's what i think i want

i have found that
strangers somehow
are better, always

and i wonder
if this time there will be a golden lion
shining from your foreigner's chest.

as for tonight,
i will speak to the vision
who became a reality
alarmingly enough

in a ying yang verse
i am told to be
true to my feelings, always
from the start

but, like you,
i will hide them
in merely cryptic
verses

grease smothered keys
shine with
the message

barely hidden
at all

i will make you a song

but i won't write it down
--they are spells--
i will sing it to you
but you won't ever hear it

i will make you a song
about that which you face
alone, above all

and i will take your old love
that which hurts you so much
of which you can't let go

and i will make it into
something new
something sung

giraffe

but it's all just writing, writing, writing
and it does nothing

text sent to an invisible audience
who may only respond with more text


if i can draw my feelings out onto the screen
with the words i write
then i believe i won't have to feel anything anymore
which is what i convince myself i want
what i convince myself is best
for everyone

constantly pulling myself in two directions
unable to move in the direction i most desire
(i need more help than i get)

but really no need for any pulling
because we feel everything, don't we?
don't we.

but the only way to stay proud, rigid,
and neither happy nor sad
(but mostly sad)
is to pretend that
i don't.

then don't make us feel like we did

they try, they try, they try.
all try to touch me.
none can reach through.

i try, too. from the other end.
but i don't try hard enough.
and only coming halfway makes for very bad parties.

once i learned to touch through all the way
i found the way in ireland with you.

all is my fault, and i know it.
i don't know why but
i don't want it to be different or it would be.
it is easiest to turn off.

i am really just afraid of the change.
and yet i long for it with everything i have.
i am always fighting myself
and that is what begins again to define me
and lock me into mood-less stasis.

i feel so constrained; it is only from within myself.
everything is about control, and willpower, and the sustenance of posture.
and the preservation of a baseless image.
an unpleasant one.
a lonely one.

above all
a lonely one.