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Blake Bumpus May 2012
I spent a few hours trying
to write a poem from your perspective.
First I get stuck on something I would say to you,
that’s not completely stupid or irrelevant,
and then, after I say in the poem
“Everyone is an atheist,”
I try to write how you would respond.
I am not sure if you would have moved on
with whatever other subject,
or have something to say,
(though it feels like you usually don’t)
And I realized,
after two years of knowing you
I do not know how you think,
I don’t know where to begin.
I can describe you,
But I don’t know how you would
describe me,
or anything else,
and this
terrifies me.
Blake Bumpus May 2012
All that one might see
in this strange world, with all it’s grim
and our ruffian leaders
and our expensive college degrees
that promise nothing,
is depression.

I won’t say that you turned my life
into a happy Beatles’ song,
But you have certainly been a companion
To enjoy the goods things in life,
Like proper violin music
and teas with multiple vowels.

And when I do feel overcome
with the trivial stress of
our trivial lives,
I know that, not only
do you feel my pain, truly,
but that you will do
anything in your power
to lift my body up,
knowing and trusting, rightly,
that I would do the same
for you
Blake Bumpus May 2012
We were parallel like
hot math,
which face it,
is made of stuff we don’t
but someone we know to
be true.
So many chemicals involved,
So many novels written,
Philosophers think they have
Everything understood,
until they get to what love is,
and that, my friend,
is tricky.

I’ll surely attempt to question what I feel,
not to doubt but to answer, to know
fuller, to understand You and I.
But I’ll always know,
love exist before
Blake Bumpus May 2012
Violins where plucked
just like grapes for wine,
speaking in the vernacular
of birds in the Amazon,
the colours of orange and green
with more species of bird
in a square kilometer
than they have in the entire
Northern Hemisphere.

Going to the outback as an adventurer
Might have been our grandfather’s idea,
one that I might share if things were

But we have dreams of
large cities couple with an
ocean view,
and we both want to capture it.
From the sun setting
to the people it contains
to the raindrops falling off
a precipice,
going nowhere.

We’re artist, we can share our passion,
our passion shares
Blake Bumpus May 2012
I find it hard to write
love poems about you.
I usually don’t know where
to begin.

Love is like gravity.
Powerful, ever present,
but by itself, well,
not much.

Because love is so much more.
As much **** as it is butterflies,
encompassing all of the things.
From snake oil to water of the rose
Blake Bumpus May 2012
I want to be your biggest laugh,
The best high you’ll ever have,
I want to be able to count every hair on your head,
And feel your spine, up to your seraphic wings,
I just want to melt into your skin.

the most remarkable thing about you being with me,
is that it’s you,
and that you are with me
(it’s the most extraordinary thing in the world)
it’s motion, it keeps me moving again.

It is this small but interesting town
We keep finding hidden and new things
even though we have been together
so long.

And at one point
I believed I could survive
with only half a heart
arteries spilling out like roots
of a pine tree.
you ended this.
You joined
your roots to mine
and we were one
once again.
Blake Bumpus May 2012
Allow me to state a fact
(as obvious as the colour of the sky):
Love is so strange.
It can bring me to scream and curse and
slam doors and kick holes in the wall
(watch the sheet rock explode in dust to your amazement)
It can absolutely do away with all reason, all that effort
to foster a logical, intelligent mind.

But I woke up in such a terrible mood today
I didn’t even get out of bed until four
(my class was cancelled even though I did not find out till later)
I come to see you on your brief break—I had not eaten
in a day and quite frankly the thought of seeing you
scared me.
But I saw you, and I swear to God,
everything is right in the world.
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