Sunday, October 26, 2008


(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

____EE Cummings

avalon 2, tommy oshima

____i. (16 perspectives of )
a long strand of hair, curled back once,
on page 43 of a thin book, a dark-brown bookmark,
a pigeon in time, a proteinous photograph,
the least dying part of you, a flimsy statue,
an unworthy epithet, a prophet's last chance,
can i smell it to find you yet again?,
at every turn you hide: memory history future tide,
my fingertips smile to touch you, the shape of a crossroad,
traintracks, my cold feet as i walked in the snow in prague,
soo many voices condensed, the light of two bedrooms,
the night of two moons.

____ii. (nocturne)
i stretch out at night, inhale persistently - finding newer darkness to reach,
and smelling the rain grass bursts of night fidgeting against pale clouds that pass still by
and hold themselves like teeth, and fade at last stretched so thin into the colors i found always
too deep to contemplate but too apparent to misunderstand.

____iii. (sahar)
the pink sheets, the violet flowers, this bed was made for another person's dreams. no wonder i sleep with unicorns, white bearded prophets, and little girls that only walk or float- but never sit, never in chairs, and never with crooked eyes see a world they can't ever touch.

____iv. (dirge)
i am jealous of the future of my bones since it is the most certain of my futures. solid now, solid then, a slight crack or two does little to diminish the shape of a humorous (and with its gentle bend a mona lisa might be smiling at packing unpacking itself under a tree in a park watching yet another sunset with a stopwatch), and the incus - a tiny shell in my ear that sings the songs of Ocean's too-many lost loves (a starfish clown, a white cloud, and a tattoo bearded sailor) in the slightest murmur, little waves unheard seen or imagined by even the grass's ears: when my heart rests its muscled lips and my eyes sleep under blackest skies, my brain's tenor voice silent does as silence says all is silence not now but then, but then: my bones will mark an asterix of once ribbed cage and once wobbly knees, certain as the sand that will wear them eventually to white dust, finally snowflakes or desert sand or a flicker in a sun's briefest smile. the final echo of the final syllable of the lastest word of the lastest breath of the lastest moment of my lastest death.

____v. (don't explain, by nina simone)
what blue music, your songs always tinkle behind dusty red curtains i see shiver from the sighs of flowers in vases disturbing the air, vacant rooms but for thick air from the weight of dust, palmless pianist's fingers, a darkened auditorium stage - wires leading from shadow to shadow, and empty seats only memory has the patience to recline in, your blue music stares every note back into silence, every rest recedes back into the kiss of yours saved in a dark chest, every ivory key two more centimeters of the width of your ceaseless back, and the sound of footsteps always hovers, delicate clicks like a metronome, all the time in the world can't save the silence you've made in me.

____vi. (prayer)
finally, a moment just between you and i, dear universe, dear alleverything, dear delicacy, dear fragility, dear fallibility, dear so beautiful more than anyotherthing, dear momentary, dear ceaselessly soft, i think of you in simple terms, you feel to me like my fingertips along tulips' petals (butterfly wings, lips, babies fingertips, lover's eyelids, dream's final goodbye!), dear sweetheart, dear love, dear peaceful restful place, asleep in your lap, asleep in your hair, awake hand in hand, awake sun in hand, awake night after night, awake drifting off to nowhere's extended span, dear heavy history, dear bested past, dear gone too fast, dear finally at last, all that's left all that's to come, will soon pass, dreams and tip-toes and tipped frames and shoes in hallways, all that's born dear alleverything is soon to bud, dear deepful thing, when i close my eyes i fall always, gravity is inside me (not out), and all that's out leads back in, home sweet home, dear monday, dear Constantinople, dear friend, all my life's just your hem; dear cosmos, dear infinity, dear maturity, all that's one, all that's one, i know nothing but you and diminish you to color and word and palm-to-breast, forgive me now, all that's left is left to rest, all that's left is yet to test, all that's left is yes and yes.

1 comment:

golriz said...

sometimes when i stand really still i feel the earth spinning. sometimes your words have the same effect.