I wrote this poem about five years ago and recently came across it, dusted it off, polished it a bit, and tried to remember what I was doing back then. And I'm glad I'm not doing it any more. Nonetheless, our experiences today are the books five years from now, when they make sense.
LOVE, but with arthur lee
I saw shapes of worried phrases
heavy twisting question marks
and helpless bleeding punctuation
passing through your eyes this sunset
as you fingered the needle
on the record player
and clung to side one
of my LOVE album
1. ALONE AGAIN OR
2. A HOUSE IS NOT A MOTEL
3. ANDMOREAGAIN
4. THE DAILY PLANET
5. OLD MAN
6. THE RED TELEPHONE
it reads like a cryptic fortune cookie of our relationship
I stared out the window
in a daylong silence that dried my tongue
refusing to speak
hoping you would leave
you glanced for a moment
through the same window
expecting to see
the white naked breasts
of my beautiful neighbor
just visible above the blooming rosebushes
seducing me with her ribs
an apple in her hand
her eyes shooting into mine
blue lasers cutting you out like cataracts
but there was nothing
you couldn’t see into the window of my eyes
past the thorns between my ears
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