Saturday, October 3, 2015

what hearts

I have changes of sense and sentiment in
varying degrees and increments, and
I have feelings that break and fill me up
like smoke when I think of her,
and she'll apologize and tell lies to keep ties,
again and again,
but I'm not thinking of her.

I could never tell what art might
break her heart,
what strangeness she might fault me for,
again and again,
the acrid taste of arsenic
in our wine, our fevers never breaking
over a summer of light that cracks through Venetian blinds,
that curls across floors and
travels into space next to god and other creators,

A light that watches us, that cuts into our hearts
  a staggering shift, a light into our hearts,
   our hearts,
    cut into, cut in two.

I dream of something tangential,
my mood, my moon, my satellite,
the dust clouds and planetary rings,
And I have peripheral feelings when I move.
I inhale and I breathe in the ephemeral dust,
the joy of the void swallowed by this earthly lust,
the words that lonely flesh can make,
and she'll cry out, dreaming that she can find me
screaming in the early hours of the night,
but my voice, it's lost in the static of the line,
dare i seek to burst, or do i
just leave the nerves hanging like dew
in the morning light of an Indian Summer that cries
against autumnal oranges and reds,
that cuts across skies,

A light that watches us, that cuts into our hearts
  a staggering shift, a light into our hearts,
   our hearts,
    cut into, cut in two.

Still, that's what hearts are for,
no matter how much we are
out of touch, here we stand
alone, keeping our ambitions
for each other alive,
breathlessly waiting for the prize,

i spend all my breaths waiting for you
down by the river.
that's what hearts are for.