I learned in a class once
That people are attracted to
Romantic partners who are
About as attractive
As they are,
And I thought of him
(I didn't linger long)
Then I thought of you.

And I think you're
Pretty handsome
And I think my hair
Looks good today.

And I think then it's
Not my fault,
Because both of us,
We're pretty okay.

And I want a chance
To see your
Pretty okay
Under London streetlights
As the fog rolls in,
Wet sidewalk slow.

But you told me there's no
Fog in London and
That florescent lights
Don't burn yellow.

You told me "look me up
When you come to London"'
You turn from me
In the streetlamp's glow.

'Q

I will never feel the same again
You left me half satisfied
I know you're the perfect ten
But that doesn't mean you should've lied

I wish we could've made love
And sorted out our emotions
But they pushed you away with a quick shove
And now I'm left with no remaining notions

494

Going to Him! Happy letter!
Tell Him—
Tell Him the page I didn’t write—
Tell Him—I only said the Syntax—
And left the Verb and the pronoun out—
Tell Him just how the fingers hurried—
Then—how they waded—slow—slow—
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages—
So you could see what moved them so—

Tell Him—it wasn’t a Practised Writer—
You guessed—from the way the sentence toiled—
You could hear the Bodice tug, behind you—
As if it held but the might of a child—
You almost pitied it—you—it worked so—
Tell Him—no—you may quibble there—
For it would split His Heart, to know it—
And then you and I, were silenter.

Tell Him—Night finished—before we finished—
And the Old Clock kept neighing “Day”!
And you—got sleepy—and begged to be ended—
What could it hinder so—to say?
Tell Him—just how she sealed you—Cautious!
But—if He ask where you are hid
Until tomorrow—Happy letter!
Gesture Coquette—and shake your Head!

Just the thought of them makes your jawbone ache:
those turkey dinners, those holidays with
the air around the woodstove baked to a stupor,
and Aunt Lil's tablecloth stained by her girlhood's gravy.
A doggy wordless wisdom whimpers from
your uncles' collected eyes; their very jokes
creak with genetic sorrow, a strain
of common heritage that hurts the gut.

Sheer boredom and fascination! A spidering
of chromosomes webs even the infants in
and holds us fast around the spread
of rotting food, of too-sweet pie.
The cousins buzz, the nephews crawl;
to love one's self is to love them all.

Which  hand is the penny in?
I think I'd like to be tricked again
Once more silver eye
I seldom sense it in your sigh
Oxygen conversion is your diversion

I hear the horns against the cliff
A moon familiar crescent slips
Silently from the sea
Are you..
Are you quite alone?

I feel the frost on my bones
Memories split the northern sky
The stars call me
A glow like fire I have known
Caught upon the web of words
I remain
Listening Night

Tangled in the hair of you
I sniff war smoke
You do not waver
I do not
Tightening the knot

Blood I wish to not know you
Pouring perfume round nostrils
Flared
Jaw so clenched
Pulse
I taste your presence in my throat

Blood drunk among the fray
Or curled warm among the furs
That night before the sea
I dream of it

Four pigeons sing-song, nine hours the day long
Menial and manual, this warehouse life is annual
Lonely industrial estates on a hazy morning
when the ecstatic eastern winds are horning

Where I count boxes, load lorries and dodge bosses
Listen to the birds coo and a phone playing blues too
I give names to them all, the birds in the rafters
and sing a nine hour song of all their ever afters

Dirt under my nails, from a day of insulation sales
The solace I find of an eve is the fantastic words you weave
You who write to live, you who my soul I will give
The ghost of my future self, a rambling poet
working for money, I'll be you I just know it

Simultaneous afterlife, generational satellite
The energy we possess, is transferred with every breath
You are me and I am you, together, nothing we can't do
Some day I'll run wild, a leader of a literary mob
but right now I just dream of such things on the job

They say that love
is a strong word
so believe me
when it's said, it's heard
I know I'm not
the prince charming
you've been waiting for
but I don't want to be harming
you're feelings when
I tell you
that the only person that doesn't
love you, is yourself.