So Much (Still)

So much
for that feeling of purpose
I had yesterday morning
when in a moment of stillness
I stirred my coffee
counter-clockwise, and felt a little motion

I’d like to live in the feminine place
right before you’re awake, before
false clouds, bright sun; before
my hair falls in so much humidity
not unlike a crestfallen cock
yet so much for my theory about penis envy

Pens and swords
have always felt
phallic-ly effective
unfairly masculine
mostly because I’d like to use some kind of
tool that feels inherently productive
but I’ve never been that great at hand-jobs

and anyway there’s so much
focus on the contrast
of my passivism and
the power of assertion,

I think
overhearing her tell someone
“I have so much to do today!”
and then seeing how she
spent her whole day just
telling people “I have so much to do!”
made me think about
“so much”

I couldn’t tell you what I do all day,
but at night in the lamplight
I see red notches in my knuckles
(from all the papercuts)
keeping tally on my skin
counting so much: “myself,” I like to tell people

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words to say

It’s difficult to say sometimes
say things like start or come or hang on
Wait, maybe
there’s a word for it, maybe
there’s a right way to say
Right now or
Right then or
Right here
The problem is in the implied
so where
so when there is subtext there are
a thousand meanings masticating in our mouths
How then do we make
make meaning work
to make sounds that mean
That is Rain and
That is Snow and
This is Sorrow and
I am happy
And it makes me hurt
But this is how we
how we express things now
when once before I think (um)
maybe once our feelings weren’t inaudible
Heart-translation is impatient work
Tongues don’t have a tendency towards word-formation patiently
when I have words to say like
wait for me
I’m ready now
my mouth moves in unspeakable slow motion
and your ears may or may not be open
or your mouth is open too
and anyway I want to hear yours first, say things like
I want this or
I need this or
I don’t know and
I never had the words before to say things like
Or what it means to say them
The meaning of each meaning, then
To understand what it means, then
when I say I
And what it means, then
when I say

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I see the morning like an architect

I see the morning like an architect.

stucco parapets of light pattern the assemblage of an idea,
and all to do with you: all the origami of a golden horizon
marks itself with triangles, and folds into the right angles
of your elbows and knees, mounting the mouth-shaped morning
as the sun glows against the windowpanes of your fingertips.
geometric jigsaw, decidedly domestic but an epoch nonetheless
translated into the context of a space best occupied.

and on the outside, pyramidic cumulonimbus monitor their movements
to better mirror you; diamond exposures to the elements, a blue tableau
we’ll fix our memories to, as to kites flown from lower balconies,
while tourists walk by taking pictures, and learn about our histories.

how in the beginning there were libraries; how the breaks in conversation
are merely moments of worship. how in the morning your mouldings
make an exceptional cathedral in the fetal position,
the tabernacle for the mobile devotionals
to the arch of your back,
to the gables of your shoulder blades,
to the belfry of your voicebox,
to the lunettes of your sleeping eyes.

I see what must be the diagonal of a daybreak
building with sunlight the shape of a sanctuary.

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Thoughts While At A City Bus Stop On My Way To See You

I could set a clock by the signatures
of minutes when I think of you,
and make better time than this city bus could.
I could go careening down Columbus
south along a blue whale lake,
and track the tick marks of the seconds
that tap a very quick tattoo.

On a compass of you straight to
State Street out of red, then mere feet away
pause by the bus stop, just before the city
knuckles up (approvingly, I like to think)
and delivers me in increments

to Michigan and Madison
to Van Buren and Plymouth
to State and Monroe
to the intersection where you first kissed me
in the center of a heart throb
of the city that I love.

I keep count on the thought of your fingers,
and bookkeep each strand of your hair,
‘til the southbound bus catches up to me at last
and envies every flawless second
I keep when you cross my mind.
My heart, wound up, the perfect time piece.

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A little shameless self-promotion: For those of you who have enjoyed the original visual art I’ve posted here, now it’s all available on my online art store:

Feel free to look, like, and possibly do some shopping! And maybe show your rich friends who like to buy original art.

Thanks everyone!!

Grown Ups Canvas PrintLike An Ocean Art PrintFancy Pants Art PrintYou Turned My Robotic Heart Organic Art Print

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In Memory of My Feelings


“And yet
I have forgotten my loves, and chiefly that one, the cancerous statue which my body could no longer contain,
against my will
against my love
become art”
–Frank O’Hara

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I Thought I Saw You Yesterday

I thought I saw you yesterday.
Across the street, in a restaurant,
through a window,
with someone new,
and suddenly I remembered who you are.

I recalled the fingerprint of your companionship
in the way I was first enlightened to it,
with my first impression like a raw
new plate of clay,
when you came so very close and
pressed yourself against me.
The stamp you left is dry now,
and cemented,
and starting to break off.

But I thought I saw you yesterday,
and I remembered you with the same clarity
as when we were both wet and impressionable,
when you were amenable to my imprinting
as I was ready also for you,
before we came across the outlawing
inner layers of each other
and ourselves –
back when all you had of me was an assumption,
and all I had of you was open canvas.

I thought I saw you yesterday
and recalled all the small things I knew about you first,
like the way your eyebrows lifted when you listened,
or the way your head fell when you spoke,
or the way a picture in your apartment
made me feel empty,
and yet not so very much alone.

I think by the time yesterday
is months away
these things will maybe fade a little,
and yet in that moment when I thought I saw you
for the first time
in a long time,
I felt as if I had been waiting
my whole life
just to meet you,
lose you,
and then see you again.

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