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knot meat
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I.
you're the girl trapped between mondays and memories you made up.
your own interpretations and other people's suggestions take their turns with you.
it's not pretty, but you're the girl the uptight dominated husband wants to lash out at in the dark of a downtown theatre.
you don't seem to mind the anonymity of that.
you haven't broken love into finer categories yet, but i know you will.
you see only what every lover has in common and not where they differ,
you see only blood red perfection,
only rythmic assertations.
you do not see the difference clear in the resigned guesser and the striver. you see only that what they want, what they offer is the same, only one knows it and the other does not.
you're the girl who i wanted to be different.
you're the girl who i wanted to break me from it all.
you're the girl who i wasn't fair to.
you're the girl who i got wrong.
you painted carelessly with your tongue, you wanted a canvas forced upon you, so that you could record your struggles to exist.
and yet it was never passive.
you're the girl who almost made me great.
there is perhaps more to say about you than so many others,
because you change as i do,
you are perhaps more sensitive to that than i've ever seen.
you are innocent,
in that you're waiting,
waiting to see what someone else will say if you act how someone else suggested.
you are a messenger between forces in this world.
you will surpass all those who thought they used you.
you will be devastatingly deep,
in one shallow grave after another,
there isn't a lifestyle you couldn't live, because you have learned how to cry, and how to pretend to cry,
and you've almost learned the difference.
II
your arms are smooth, and easy, like one point of guernica concentrated on, the rest of the mural witheld in your eyes.
your lips, they rarely go as far as they've imagined,
they rarely give birth to hemingway or mouth out the chaos
of world wars before the world knew there was a world.
but there seems moments when they could, they too teem with more information than they know how to harness,
explosive tragedies waiting,
waiting for the peasantry in my arms,
the foolish hero in my breath.
in short i am frightened.
in your kiss i see clearly,
how easy it is to change something to which there is no quick circle back to, to which only patient dust will ever touch again.
i cannot say bold things like if i were to take you, then this then this
rather, if i were to let you take me with you,
i would no longer be a beginner,
i would no longer have an excuse for not knowing all i don't know.
if i kissed you and could not make the world feel blessed that such things arise in it,
then there is nothing i could tell to the world, there is no way i could ever even for a moment not be trapped within myself.
if i kissed you and did not run away from working at some kinko's with my nametag that says hello my name is kafka, well i'd be cutting myself off from the part of myself that learns,
that generalizes boldly,
that does not disintegrate into sameness.
there are times when you,
and your stranger's kiss,
are the only argument against entropy.
nothing i can say can make you realize the myth you are in my mind,
the beauty,
the sublime realization before i fall to sleep.
that bridge between who i am, and all of the people i once could've been, slowly fading untill i see you embracing them
in the shale curtains of dreams,
where the sky is both burying and buried, and reality is
an unearthing kiss away.
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030427
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