Saturday, July 22, 2006

Just a brief note, here:

when one only enters poems, there's a fair record of a certain state of mind, but it is important to consider that it is of a particular genre. This is obviously unposihed, confessional and sometimes illustrative poetry. It is, for the most part, highly subjective and posted here mainly for tradition's sake.

As for the daily life of the poet,I would say that this is more of a reflection of his inner, poetical life... and that at a remove, confined to the genre.

That said, it's a sad bit of poetry for a war-torn world full of innocents. Perhaps it's a record of my own journey toward letting all of this go, learning forgiveness and perhaps a bit of all the things that are afire around me.

Or maybe it's whining. Whining, as eloquent as I can make it.
Later

It happens quite without
our knowing:
the moment,
sliding away,

its clues:
a painful morning, for

example, and something said
beyond recall

that changed everything.

Stories about strokes

of fortune train us
to feel

happy endings coming.

A complete surprise, then,

after

it works out, when
nobody is happy

and nobody
remembers

exactly

which of these
moments turned

the tide,
went too far


and cannot,
must never,

be forgiven.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

ballroom

I.
Now it's a barn,
a ballroom really

the posts wait,
lit by beams of dust



II.
She pushed me against
the wall, holding me
up entirely


III.
On the phone the faces hang,
mouths open, talking



IV.
the shadow of me
pushes back against my shoes
no matter how fast I walk.

the night windows
spill yellow light
I step around,

the lines of some sidewalks
make deep sense
and talk constantly,

the bridge,
wider than it seems
when I walk it,

looks the same
from the river

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Who knows, for instance
that we float on bubbles of fortune,
that our only possession
is a tireless voice?

Or that when we sleep,
instead take part in an honor
guard, slipping the living
from the dead

lest they cling to all
they never wanted? Or that now
when all is suddenly

lost, what was

now had been
a great and future thing,
so being all
the more than it became?