Early one September morning,
What is generally considered the supreme masterpiece,
has fallen
Into many errors.
You can ignore
The Circle of Science.
Earth Systems transmute love.
Did it start with a big bang?
These days,
You arrive in a new place:
Dante’s art of discovery
Runs everything and the Universe.
Poems are accidental;
A day in the life of
The treasury of classic poetry,
Tells the story.
An introduction to the best things in life.
A sequence of love.
SIDE A
I THINK (Tyler the Creator, 2019)
there’s a limit to your love (James Blake, 2011)
somewhere only we know (Keane, 2004)
somewhere over the rainbow (Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, 1990)
I don’t know what the weather will be (Laura Mvula, 2013)
although the sun is shining (Fleetwood Mac, 1969)
never seen the rain (Tones and I, 2020)
SIDE B
And so it goes (Billy Joel, 1989)
late in the evening (Paul Simon, 1980)
all is full of love (Björk, 2002)
I am in love with you (Imogen Heap, 2005)
even though (Norah Jones, 2009)
just like Jesse James (Cher, 1989)
too much love will kill you (Queen, 1992)
there is pressure on my diaphragm
like right before a free fall,
before I cry, throw up,
or laugh hysterically.
my head hums to flickering eye lids
as there’s a sparkly liquid
running down my spine and stomach wall.
it is coming from my head, I think.
these sure are just the side effects
of your new ventilator.
It must have been,
the rhythmed blasts of air
towards our locked hands,
heavy breathing,
and our beating hearts,
that cause me so much pain today.
I push until I pierce three times
through thin aluminum.
with tepid water from the tap
running down my throat,
I don’t know what loss I mourn.
curled up like an embryo,
I used to suck you up as well,
you’d mute the symptoms for a while
until I got too used to you.
until I’d have to up the dose.
and thus your impact lingered;
just like acetaminophen, it left
a burning stomach wall,
the ache of missing him,
and craving for you still.
I hold my tea cup
a thin thread of patience left
I’m sick of waiting
between time and space
there is an alternative
it is you and me
a couple of shoes
align and wait to be worn
I am barefooted
the grass I walk on
is morning-cold and wet still
I need to warm up
a chain of people holding hands in Lebanon
–dozens of kilometers, I heard–
the book vendor’s voice as she elaborates on some Norwegian novel
–I never read it in the end–
his pink shirt smelling of a wooden wardrobe and Chanel
–it used to intensify toward his wrist–
people singing well on casting shows
–although I really do not care–
Snow Patrol on gravel-grounded morning walks
–sound and pulse and volume–
breathing in snow-pregnant winter air
–I could taste it when I was a kid–
the morning we began this list, high on caffeine and in love
–unlike you, the formication did return–
you are jeopardy,
I am your candidate.
I seek the questions
to your answers
which may well be just a lie.
lack of interest
weary, restless
perforation,
drill, a hole made
making tired
digging away
loose material –
the one I built
my life upon.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
All damp, I tease you. Shame’s tremor
hums ahead. I act a role, so play me
as you create hell’s metaphor.
I am a sad muse, teach me hope.
Come, I’m all yours, Master
My spasms harm as I rot.
Still, you are there
to hear my praise.
I compare thee
to a red rose,
I presume.
Please,
dare
me.
