divorce.
2006-06-17 11:57 p.m.
i'll get tired, the way that i do, of every letterbeing a confession, and i'll stop writing, fall asleep
on the sounds of ink and paper, on my sorrows
visited and well-accounted (not
so well, when i start to story-tell them) -
we are tracing the centers of our hands together, my tragedies
overlap, request attention, seem unreal
within the current situation, unmask me and leave me here, indecent, questioning my own intentions.
so many times to have redone what i have
done done done
must mean some fault, some failure, some forgetfulness
on my part. for explanation
i will unveil and be so open, afraid to trust after the four years worth of leaving, will be transcendent, will tear apart my stomach in the moment, termed
hell for all the seperation wound up in my organs, for all the clicks that carried me, half-ready, toward destruction, for all the days that fast approached me, and i could not eat, for
there was no pleasure in this suffering, no matter
how imposed, precise, exacted i had made it, my death wish
so long carried
would never quite be granted, would
poise itself in cigarettes and indecisiveness, in youthful vices, in
the present tense, in reenacting my regrets, this time
not mistaking those actions that once struck me kind, that once peaked my interest, instead
buried in the thickness of breath, in the opposite of oxygen, i choke out these last sentences, imposing
the excess of those letters never sent, set free, finally,
given freedom by this language
that leaves me cold, unsettling
the summer for its rainfall, the seventies
once seemed distant, seemed seventeen and unwilling
to make commitements, swearing safety in the signals, god
stepped out of the spiritual, carved signs inside our wrists, and when we would not listen, sent the wrong messages, missed connections, sawed the door in half to bedrooms we'd protected, and we still pulled on our heads this transgression, his silent lips a poison, a treaty for what would happen, for the failure that would cross me, in my uncertain calling, to leave the comfort of my dying
and reawaken, the world foreign, afraid afraid afraid
avoidant of my only means of passing.