here's how it happened:
you never regret the swimming.
I'm actually not so much about the swimming
but the nakedness.
I want to be a mermaid
a sea nymph in my orgy of phosphorescence
want to lie on my back all
cooch and toes
and be called a spirit.
the water is always cold and often tumultuous.
these new England kids will say that it's not so bad
that I should just jump in
that it's more painful to feel the water first with my feet.
you may need to do some bottomnaked jumping jacks
may need to lie face down on a rock and only let a wave wash over you.
you may lose a contact
climb home braless
we hobbled by The Shack
walker, and a cane
the three-legged race
grandpa and grandma pelican.
I can see his bare bottom as he rides a current on his stomach like a little kid I can see his naked bum as he hangs from a rock like a fearless teenager.
I will follow him.
I will wait for his return.
I will put him in a ziplock bag
and save him for later.
sometimes you can't eat what you order.
the actress is a very young redhead, or she is a very old redhead. she is unhappy and she is happy
and sometimes your arm just hurts.
there is always a brilliant sunset,
a full moon,
a planetarium of stars,
and mars (which by the way will not be this close for 68,000 years)
all the intensifiers of romance and of tragedy,
our decadence to take for granted.
your advanced intellect is false advertising.
it runs faster
and is afraid of nothing.
why should you comprehend an iamb
why should you articulately contemplate a grain of sand
a failing nation?
how can you understand that four
and not know what you are?
millimeters, dollars, amps:
the tools, the currency, the outlets, are the same.
the language is your native tongue.
I thought the rock was closer than it was. and sometimes your arm just hurts.
here's the thing:
I love you.
I hear the words like a song repeating in my head.
or maybe it's just the Pixies.
there is lost Indian wool
which, being lost,
cannot be found.
I wake up
in a panic.
I need water.
there, on the windowsill
is his jacket
and his drugs.
I am asleep
and limp to deliver the found package.
there are voices.
whispers not for me
that cause my faith a fever
I will stay awake and determine them
I will slap faces if I need to
I will crawl out the window
onto the roof and spy
if I need to
I will be ruined
but no door opens
and no one returns to her bed.
she is watching the sunrise
and I wish I knew.
I dream of those whispers
and right hooks labored by molasses
she maintains not discussing it
because she has to take a shower.
he is indifferent.
but then he is not
and says all I want to hear
and clarifies it with a kiss.
a kiss of porches and anguish and his neck:
the one I remember (the one I had.)
but then he is not he
but some troll of a human
with paper clips through his ears
and expectorating habits.
and then I am fired (because I cry too much.)
I will put the coat in his room
and see him asleep on his side
and go back to work.
when I think it is
when I think it isn't
I have lost depth perception
which is how I broke my foot.