for: sjgd.
a cloud white moon above the
hay shed and
the sky slouching
either side, never darkening—
it was all i could do to witness
the yellow jaws of wheat munch
our summer away
i ran as if commanded to
lungs contracting into
pulp knocking against my door-teeth
not looking back into the empty street of
summer? lovely summer
stench of green eggs
and trips by foot down straight paths
stench of trucks and the long white
arm of sun looking to fight - constant
pimp of hot flesh
stench of bread and cheese and
melon, was it really so? sitting under
the tin roof when you came back for
me full of nerves
dry leaves making a hollow bell
& cigarette making me friendly
we took our muzzles off
by the dirt crossroads, tanned and
bleating about every tomorrow
after dinner, cooling
of hot air, we sat down to it.
who’s out there? red book on the table
black pencil, yellow vegetable –
the pain of loss and the pain of
possibility were holding hands, kissing,
we looked away and –
for each other, uneasy living
inside two months, dawn shedding her
skin before the swelling became
unmanageable. ice. in the?
water. i know you are –
my love – you are
the one pierced
through and i am the one bent low
trying to peer into your eyes – if the light
had not mutilated the clouds like that
perhaps the june beetles would not
swoon and die and if only you would come
back quickly –
yes!
that’s the man, there! poised now
for a minute in my
kitchen wearing shirt sleeves
with his collar open and
the marble column of his throat
throwing bricks at me before getting back
on the bus
there in your other life you
lived in a furnished room and
walked through the wet golf course
with my letters in your pocket and
cigarette glowing large as
an attic
I think our letters grew legs and took
each other out for lunch!
and the ones who did not want to
ride a country bus instead rode a white
horse into some secret place we couldn’t
see them anymore and if only they
could be heavy copper
rings to wear around your neck well it
would all feel the same
– summer blue
as trees while i slept mostly alone
naked under rotating stars or else stood
behind spellbound cows while the
channels dragged themselves across
red heel land
but the night is coming
down hard into chimneys, sam. it is
terrible to stand beside you with
skin holding us
apart – i am separate
from you – i have these afternoons
and these mornings when you’re gone
a red, strong
stain on my cheek where you
have kissed me, little
love, silver flute in my flesh, who
i cannot always follow but
when the
time arrives, would he follow me
into places far less gigantic? can
you still not sleep, sam?
i cannot sleep either – that handsome
cockerel in the field is
too noisy, don’t you think? i’ve got
to tell you i am a stranger with
more pillows
hidden inside my pillow as we
turn against each other
to each other
for each other – the way we
have come is all we can
see and its pressing
our heads against a wall, ashamed
that there is so much still to
laugh about –
early bruises of watery
light are just starting
to bloom from
a colder, gooseberry
sun. come here, come here! he would
shout when i was too far away - he had
been dangling his big feet over a
broken speedboat for long enough this
summer -
there is a small
breakfast of hot nights
left, if you are still
hungry? i’m hungry because
it’s not over –
blue ashes loose under bare feet
eyelashes splashing around
playing catch – one ringlet
of autumn curls now
around my small ear as i sit and
write to you – below it sits
a pearl who waits only for vienna
so, let me be wherever you are right
now unless you overtake
me in which case –
go on! and the turning
world, like a beast
strong and quick, will bow down
for those that are dying – no more
death for you, sam, there are
too many prizes left – and many
un-cancelled
outdoor summer concerts under a
grainy violet sky holding my
secret hand and
i’m sorry the bales
of your left-over touch
sat near hungry animals the entire
summer and remained uneaten. don’t remind me
what happened next when i was the one
face down below the fan for the final days
of black summer
and nick called to say – he knew it all along
from the way i looked at you in the jazz bar
a long way down our street – a bullets
distance away from the kitchen
stove – that afternoon
with frank and madeleine also –
i was never going to mexico – “you would
never leave sam” he said – well there's
not much light left now
across the tasman sea, nick
and february might let go of me soon
it will be quite a long time before i see you
i think sam and me should
rest in the ease of empty
mornings
for a while and the work
will follow, it will look like
golden armour in a dark
snowy woods when we've half
starved to death and begun eating
each other or worse
(our letters) and i almost
dance with happiness to think of what
will soon be asked of us, of you
and me; if i step out of my
body i might break into roses
can you see our new home in the blue
distance yet? although the dust
is fatty like a lamb galloping over
hills— it is difficult to see through it -
past it - over it -
– take care, she said –
only love the man who is
sure – oh, i said. oh,
i will – and, she didn’t say – as i walked
out the door for two years – but i’m sure
she meant – you are as
young as the blue bird is young, so –
sam, what else can i tell you but
wait just a moment longer in the white
room facing north
where the taxi cabs and green
trams zip on tight across
brunswick street, where the slap
of painting is slow to arrive and
hopefully
gentle – the moon a bandage
across your gifted, artist’s face –
we have done well i think
a horse can’t
carry his father on his
back but you can
and all summer i was 26 and
bored, my need to be worn
away like a top hat, I see it
perfectly – both of us
confusing hunger with greed
the blue birds more blue than
heaven are not choking
in my hands below
your window anymore, i grab instead
summer’s fist of burial fire and squeeze till
it cries – no more
ashes, the tap tap tap of a grey
drum begins
to drop day petals, it’s okay
because it’s raining which means the
worst is over so i’ll just
lie around in a narrow
bed and see that the smallest
stars are children who
play among
mandolins eating fresh
lemons. i feel i know exactly
what lies ahead –
– i have come
for you, are you ready to go, the glass tubes
in my head are filled with every colour
you've ever imagined
are you ready for me, heart,
heart, sam, heart – i do not live without you
who is lovely as bubblegum and
pale white flowers –
are you ready to go?
i cried
it's nice this long & lyrical style and how you make it very much your own.