my poetry here:
ninetowns - giantbank
the architect and the arsonist
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a giggle, a cricket, and a neoplastic sphere
and at other times a constricted, shadowful ocean, its captives moving slowly with the undercurrent?
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a house in the woods, and behind its secret staircase, a small boy
and at other times a wall of glass bricks lit by the hazel sky, that reminds me of your eyes?
in the mind now sitting with the eyes dry, elderly, counting my regrets
feeling my master's hand firm upon my back, I stand and fix my eyes upon the horizon
it is time, in the mind at times, to see the creamy, white arc of a thousand gulls
and to follow it across a thousand miles, to dive down a subway shaft to hear the blind man's songs
next in the mind, this time, this must be the first time I ever touched anyone, ever
to know that I would forever think of this as a weathered oak post in the snow
against which to measure love's expansion and contraction between us
it is as a raspberry thicket, we pull our bloody hands out, full of gravity
I could hear you now, your raspy voice almost gone, faded into a noisy whisper
what you said was lost in listening to the shape of your words, as they were scratched into a wall
singing, the singing of finely broken glass, is in the mind
falling, falling slowly enough to live an entire life before striking the ground
amidst largish snowflakes, a square folded paper object travels toward me
it is your last letter to me before the incident, written in red
reading, I can recall the reason for my actions, I was young
and I longed for someone with which to share my life
and i longed to die, because a myriad of scenarios crowded in the mind
not knowing what to do, I stole the heat from your hands one last time
I am looking down a 147 floor building from a floating staircase
on my hands and knees, clutching, asking please stop the wind
so I go to her and as my arms begin to tremble
I speak softly this:
have I loved you less?
have I loved you more?
have one hundred thousand silvery fish swam to us
in the darkest night?
have one hundred thousand shadows been chased away
in the middle of the darkest night?
did one hundred thousand men and women eat from our plates
as the sun rose, warming the backs of our hands?
did i kiss you enough?
did I embrace you tightly enough?
did I tell you?
I love you?
its hard to tell from here, it is fading fast
I am almost to the ground
dear alexander,
