In my next life I want a pomeranian puppy
& to stand again on the Roaches

& to be able, unlike now, to swim
& to (once more) fence on Thursdays & tap dance on Saturdays

In my next life I want to see a Hurricane
with my own eyes & write a song about it

In my next life I want to be an astronaut
remarking how in Space, there is no rain

& to read tabloid newspapers
in Orbit for the gossip & want this

In my next life I do not want
to be a poet, unless it means

unlike now, being with you
because without you, these poems mean nothing.

Charity,
the barometer
by which we
measure
the unbearable
pressure.

Once upon a dream,
You loved me.


-- Eleanor

You were red,
you liked me
because I was blue.

You touched me and I became
a lilac sky, and you
decided purple just wasn't for you.

I come from sunshine.
Sunshine thick enough to form a blanket over tanned skin
And African insects that bite to live,
Empty stomachs and full hearts
And dancing in the sand before the sunset.
I come from winter.
Where the drunkards freeze in streetways
And there is hot stew for dinner
And my grandmother is a young girl who loves the way the sky turns dark so early,
And sugar sandwiches.
I come from rain.
The different personalities of the sky
Whether Big Ben is spitting on you or weeping for you
And the grey matches the bags under our eyes,
Where everyone is always moving.
Everyone has a place to go to.
I come from love.
Declarations too many years ago, and
The way a story sets my stomach alight
And holding a loved one in your arms
Holding a pet in your arms
And listening for the one verse where one phrase puts the planets back in orbit.
I come from anger.
Thrown against my own kind,
Born for another,
And internal screams that writhe beneath skin,
And the injustice of the person that didn't win
And a history blacker than the same skin it burned with  no remorse,
Righteous anger that was never right
And a growing frustration at the living.
I come from destruction.
The sound that trees make when they break under the caress of steel teeth
And the way that houses grow where forests died
The pictures of animals that used to breathe
And a pollution so thick it has turned my blood to sludge.
I come from an hourglass
And clocks,
A repetitive countdown,
A marathon or sponsored run
And the last stretch.
I come from blue.
And green.
And the black that means nothing,
Space
And a planet revolving
Repeating.
Revolving.
Repeating.
Revolve.
Repeat.
Then end.

where the moon
is longing,
the tide is relentlessness
and love is
my jealousy of you.