Friday, August 17, 2001
eddie 'n' carla's song was 'o, canada'.. and as i looked out
those ever foggy windows
i saw a blue truck
like the one she used to drive.
i imagine looking
through heat-release intentioned
cracked windows to see
her copy of bone machine on the dash
she was sitting in the bed
playing another Cohen dirge
the kind where her voice got low
like a plaintive, seductive breath
and there was me,
hands 'tween my legs on the stool
perched with the stickyness
of rocky road on my lips
my body rich in aural goodness
the honey-drip of her words
an intravenous meal
of soul, and love, and life.
and then gone.
her refrigerator
the white, ice block ancient giant
and paintings, and scent
and memories and stamps.
i never mailed the letter.
the one that told her everything.
the one that spilled every bean
and fruit of the water-logged existence
the weight of feet and miles you couldn't run.
the ages you could not physically (ring-counting)
but only mentally transcend.
she had a decade's head start.
and i will never
(my achilles to her tortoise)
catch up.
formulate infinity/store it deep inside me
posted by J. Neas |
8/17/2001 03:01:00 AM
