contact.
2005-12-02 10:31 p.m.
it was our practical mindsthat first led us to mathematics,
when we began to see two sides
and the world became equations,
became consequential.
Caught hands in the winter with stark branches
mark my success,
the angels that have crossed our paths
have hung their jaws in silence,
listening to this conversation,
which has begun in life sentences,
tracing down our palms toward promises,
a contact of nerve endings.
attribute these lines to current circumstances,
all the chances that i've had i've wasted -
putting them into paragraphs
for the order of expression,
i lived a life in friday night fevors,
in rapists and robberies,
in high brows and low going,
in incest and complexes,
in thin skin and oceans,
in trying
arms outspread
to win back my salvation.
i am giving
everything i have
in hopes that you
will notice
will send that same effort back
will come in and receive me
will come in and make me holy.
sainted for my disbelief,
i've hidden generations,
down inside my body,
of followers and servants
of fervent passing glances
of children as decisions.
a sign of our commitment,
i am filled up and shedding
layers in the cold of winter,
caught up in the story i've been telling
ten years and every moment giving
its short life over as an introduction to the next,
it's always rise and never climax.
it's always fear that compelled us into action,
and i sit,
my legs crossed and pulled against my chest,
saying "its the books that saved me,
that introduced me to the life that i was missing."