such, such
things in my head:
they demand
(You walk
into a room and I know you
are there)
and everything
in my head,
pounds, becomes light.
I actually feel
the distance
unbecome and
bend
for you coming
towards me, the space
halves itself
and I do not even look,
you are there
coming here,
you are here from there
(and all this
in my head,
happening,
and only in there,
in my head only)
in your leaving,
you remain still,
a picture and a framel.
How you came and rested
so deep
beneath the
nothing to do
with you,
a matter of time
and place
and the such.
What to do, what to do,
I have this
something here
and it won’t budge,
it is too heavy
or light,
or lighthearted,
it makes the heart light,
you understand,
and the head heavy.
Heavy with you,
seeing you come to me,
from there to here,
so to speak
and that is impossible,
the speaking bit,
it’s not in the cards,
so I, simply,
watch and touch this
in my head,
touching you
essentially,
and that is enough.
It is only just,
it only is
what it is,
just enough,
just that,
something
in my head
that isn’t
anything more
than this:
never
more than enough.
Just enough.
enough.

sounds a voice can hope for
becoming a matter of fact.
precisely knowing this precious smile
hidden by the quiet quiet embrace.
a sense of open wanting
in the bright tear surfacing.
to enjoy falling & shattering something
that has been vacant until this moment.
gently pushing past without question to be
only & only to be soothed in the vein,
suddenly, wonderfully.

Would you mind if I sit a bit and say a word or two?
First thanks for the seat, in this city, it’s mighty kind of you.
Oh what? You don’t know who I am?
Just a man, my friend, just a man.
But I know you, yes I do, it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.
You were the boy just down the street, the smiley child, the one I had to meet.
It seems I got to you too late though, your skin is no longer the color of snow.
Your eyes are cracked red and you’re breathing as if you were dead.
Hush, don’t say a word, listen: Your lips are dry, they no longer glisten.
Would you mind if I ramble a bit and tell you a thing or two?
First, we missed you when you left.
It seemed the sun was gone, the moon too.
Oh yeah, on us, you left you mark.
You were that good thing in the dark, striking out, into the city,
’cause those other lights were so pretty.
I heard you started downtown but somehow ended up, uptown.
You made some friends along the way, the kind that don’t know the light of day.
Why your eyes so cracked and red?
Did you know you were breathing like you were dead?
Hush boy, don’t say a word, listen: Your lips are dry, they no longer glisten.
Would you mind if I cried a bit, shed a tear or two for you?
You were so young and alive, see what the city can do?
Oh wait, where’s my handkerchief?
I’m thinking about what you did, that mischief.
What possessed you to shoot that gun?
Did it make killing easy, did it make it fun?
Or was it all that drug money that made you act all funny?
For this, you had asked for a priest.
To see a holy man before the chair, at least.
And I came to see your eyes all red before they pronounced you dead.
Hush, it’ll be over soon, listen: Your lips are dry, they no longer glisten.