Sunday, July 11, 2010

Vacation poem stockpile

Through the pass
our car quickly became an upward-tilted lullaby
as our wheels churned away from the ocean
the sun punched through
what I'm sure was the most beautiful part of that dream
shocked from my sleep
my eyes process the light in patches.
When we arrived,
I quickly collected
10 very angry punctures
their mouths aching for a volcano itch.

The colors flattened out beautifully
& I found myself more often
brushing up against the limits of my vision.
We filled the sage air with attempts at comprehension,
chasing social fallacies
pitfalls for the classic mind-set.
The colors of the mind resist flatness,
even for the sake of the beautiful.

Like strangers in the subway
Dreams press their bodies against me,
we become acquaintances through skin.
Their intentions fly through me
and my slow breathing body.

I knew all the faces
(because their identities were only half-hidden
beneath the gossamer of appearance)
the locations changed nearly too fast to recognize.

Their words pressed closer,
and after a frantic sin
we had alchemy for breakfast,
I woke myself
by rubbing tinctures into my dream-skin
then stretching it
tight over consciousness
at the first drumbeat
we ruptured into morning.

Breakfast tastes better
the closer you get to the sun,
up where the wind can't seem to make up its mind.
The gusty thermals makes games out of the birds
who call their own names
in their own birdish language.
the rocks are uncomfortable
but very prestigious.
From that dignity
our eyes expand in multiple refractions possibility
Perspective means everything
or gives meaning to everything anyway
& here I am
astride my paradise,
bridging the gap between earth and sky.

Small mouthy flowers
make the wind their trembling serenade.
The rockface is dotted with their pink
full-bodied surprise.

the air creates a constrained sort of ecstasy
dryness pulls the skin tight,
a thinness begins
between outside and inside the body
in the heat
tension is a slow demon,
lays you out without your notice
leaves you sticky
& contentedly inefficient.

On the ride home
the cemetery erupted in roadside sprinklers,
misted-over my windshield,
a fairy tail is stacked on a street corner
5 mattresses high,
the pink light bruises
when bent over a July horizon,
Got salt in my hair
& sand in my shoes.

I still think of you
sometimes so hard
my breath begins to shatter,
threads of time pulled tight
fray into the shape of your name,
& when I sit down to write it out
the pen explodes in my fingers
the ink is sticky and staining,
You've left an indelible effect
on the way I touch and color this world.

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