in sympathy.
2005-11-07 8:45 a.m.
working hard, i have forgotten the effort that making effort takes to sheer propulsion, and i find myselflonely, both arms open in highway embraces, going hard on foot as if the power of automobiles could save me, could die and rise up in my place
i'm getting stuck, monday morning, in phrases and intentions, in holy hallelujah charts with their mouths part open, the resurrection that takes place in private, in hospital beds
tired from so many lives trying to pour out on them.
me too.
me too.
this is relation, the meaning we had given to clips of speeches, letting them become notorious when passed between us, some second language we have made to make us feel closer, in group
out group
both judging one another.
side stories, this is how we relate, by being open, by being spoken for in times of trouble, by hanging our defensive heads with ornamental pauses, with the beauty that it takes to be recognized in public.
some lapse, and there's the hallway that means guards are always watching, too complete to catch the full story, she's waiting at a table to tell me her latest victory, and i've heard it on repeat since the last night at nine thirty, i've been full and now i'm empty
i've been full and now i'm empty
i've been full, and they have taken out my middle in black and plastic, in gags of sending armor down the throat, what it takes for cleansing, an hour for watching and two to wait while blood levels subside, i've been there
i have to tell her, two weeks earlier
about what medicine can do to the healthy
what tidal waves she'll make if she tries another exit
about the little good that's hidden still in the work of living.
she doesn't listen, but comes later as a sterilized phone call, some lack of effect, the things you've seen
are only visions in comparison to what has happened
are only passing apparitions
and now we look straight eyed into one another, this secret passed, that machines can resurrect us into safer settings, can leave us clinging to our beds in open pathways, too afraid to speak about the way that life has happened.