photographs.
2006-04-20 7:13 p.m.
i do not know the namesof those things that i am loving.
They are mysterious - they elude me
when i search them out, and come
full face
when my back is turned.
(this is no laughing matter.)
I put voices back into machines, crossing wires,
tell me how much you love me over miles
drawn out like summer, that brown upon my skin
waiting for you.
Tell me how much you love me
over miles
pulling hard to ensure these bones are breaking.
Tell me how much you love
telephone lines
and how they keep your heart from aching.
I am undone, I take
photographs, images as expressions, take my brows back
and form a rigid forehead
I probably am cold.
I most likely am frigid.
(I am a deluge, an outcry
a voice constructed and carried, hitting
every note until the letters no longer feel right.
I am searching.
I am searching for that feeling.)