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May 25, 2004

:: the upshot ::

Poetry breaks are good for the soul. Let's hear it for inspiration...

it's the same beast scratching again
swishing forth and back across the threshhold
opening and closing the door
until it's impossible to know whether the next encounter
will be with fur or teeth and claws
and it's never quite here
and it's never quite gone
and i dream about it every night
its shapes multiplying, terrible beauties
and always this year it has your eyes.

some lovers make their way out
in dry heaves and bile
some flow out in brackish rivers
some cut so deep i'm amazed i don't bleed
to death
you might be new, might not
it's too soon to tell
always too soon until you're out of my system
inasmuch as you will ever be
what kind are you, i wonder
some days i am so ill i cannot eat or drink
some days i feel this fist in my gut, making another hole
some days i feel there's an ocean welling in me
but mostly it's my mind you occupy
associations and loves, articulations and academics
politics and loyalties tangled in your sinews

i can't recall exactly this
but maybe that's the trick
and what it will take to get you out
is a particular kind of procedure
a big shock or a little snip
shift everything around and when the dust clears
you'll be spotty
translucent
these months a hazy blur
which leaves only one question
do i want to lose you?
i have lost so much to you already
i don't know if i can let you go.

- L.H.