|08-12-2013, 02:37 PM||#1|
Join Date: Apr 2006
in the morning the light from my window
was viscous and thick and almost
i turned over and felt warm stretches of sun
wash over my back in slow waves
as if approaching a shoreline
and quietly crashing into me,
seeping between the blankets and the matress
finding nooks and crevices i was unaware of.
the miles between the parts of my body was only
imaginary, like the depth of horizon
when standing seaside; like the scaled geography
of a map
that only represents a separation.
i began remembering how ugly the beach is,
how filthy and oily the sand and boardwalks are,
how people shoot fingers off with fireworks
and the appendages are never found.
and my bed and room took on similar character:
the dirty clothes, the stiff carpet,
the clutter of artifacts that will never be found
and even if found would only hint at
the full catastrophe of my personality,
neither interesting nor postmodern nor
revealing subconscious desires;
and i began feeling
an incredible distance
between myself and others
as a necessary boundary,
as in the water surrounding a peninsula,
or an archipelago,
like a national park
there is too much beauty
in this slow casualty,
the high rate of frames per second
capturing the gradual deceleration of my body
as if i have been tossed overboard
in a heavy sleeping bag
with no chance of emerging
above the waterline.
if someone cast out and saved me
it would be miraculous.
|08-12-2013, 11:37 PM||#2|
Join Date: Sep 2006
you should read a couple of poetry books, I think you'd find them appealing:
- human wishes by robert hass
- the dream of the unified field by jorie graham
this really picks up at the third stanza. your voice is clear. your breaks speak with intention. I'm sorry for the circumstances that may have brought them about, but it feels more delicate when written out, and what a way to cope. the first stanza can be cut a bit.