there is so much that fills;
moments or memories that awaken
sensibilities & sensations so unwanted,
& i like the feeling of the floor on my face,
so very stable, so very sane.
& the building outside, has
turned golden in the dying sun.
clouds are going astray, today
i have made myself feel
for the first time in an age,
even if this has meant blocking my ears
as you scream your lungs dry
in the bathroom.
even if this has meant wrapping arms
around you, in a cubicle & not knowing
what the hell i'm supposed to say.
but the past thirty hours have been
the most draining, saddest, wonderous hours
that i have seen myself through
since this all began
to begin, sometimes is the hardest thing
from a midday venture to a red, red room
& thoughts & intentions & terrible things
how good my hands would look around your neck,
how the blood in my mouth is almost sinful
& the fact that i tried so hard to sleep
under the table, at threethirty
was exhilirating.
acts of idealism, performed alone.
like commentary in a childish hand,
purple stickers on the door that say
to beware of gods, ((beware of you))
crawling up the staircase to watch
the midnight sky turn to dawn, during
the lightest rain. it should be
a moment to share with you. still,
i have watched for you, from windows
still, i have wandered through every room
trying to find you & intrigue you & finally
have our feet meet, toe to toe.
this insomnia, tailored to fit,
it is simply perfect. & i'm walking
through the university , it is so early,
there is no one, wasted light on either side
& there is rain running down my neck
the people awake at this hour
are nothing like i've seen. there is
a man wearing a raincoat, no trousers.
he is putting sunscreen on his old thighs.
a woman in dalmation pyjamas oh-so-cute,
is jogging with tiny steps under
the balustrade.
& goddamnit
i am alive.
home at long, long last. eating
leftovers for breakfast, stripping away
my ballerina clothes, to stand uninterrupted
in perfumed madness, in frazzled hair &
darkened eyes. oh, if you could
see me now in such
glory
pulling on my dad's designer shirt
wondering if it is a fake. it looks
divine with my red scarf. & i slip
between the sheets, talking politics &
disaster. dream that my brother
has asked for my mp3 player.
when i wake four hours later,
my mp3 player is gone.
the phone is ringing incessently, to
no avail. an elusive sun makes me
change into the outift that i know
would render you dizzy if you
saw me in it.
i rush out the door, waving twenty
dollars in the air. my head is collapsing
from the guilt, from the lack
of wanting. coffee, is all that
seems to matter right now
((not you, for once))
trainrides must be the cure to all
problems in the world. forgetting
to think, forgetting to forget.
there's a moth flying overhead, your
brother has a mohawk, your sister & i
lie over the beanbags, shifting
uncomfortably, eating sugared
snakes. the things i want to
do for you, are not enough.