September 2008
3 posts
last november.
i’m recycling your sunlight
holding it between my thumb and forefinger
letting it dangle as i walk
i’m filled with lavender sort-of restlessness
trembling with that morning—this morning
tumbling through the minutes in my marrow
untrusting of our place in tomorrow.
you on my right arm and straight through its bones—
smelling just like last november.
“There will be time to murder and create.”
– T.S. Eliot—The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am.
“Humanity I love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting its there and sitting down on it”
-e. e. cummings
And I am. I keep putting the wonders and intricacies of everything and everywhere and everyone I am at this very moment in my back pocket and forgetting that they’re even there, forgetting that I can pull them out at any time and...