10/25/2014
”darling, it’s frightening! when a poet loves he might be an unshrived god enraptured.” - Boris Pasternack
The late october sun hugs our faces with a looming brilliance.
We are propagandic youths emblazoned on a poster in orange tint.
Looking forward to our victory– our war efforts, living in pride
followed around corners and sidealleys
by a most vague sense of wrong.
and when you turned to me to look–
I realized, with a horrible feeling,
I was in a sort of strange complacent love.
It’s not to say i was in love –
That had happened months before when I’d refused food and drink at the Independence day celebrations
smiling at chinese invention gunpowder in the american mideastern
sky.
But to say I was good with whatever was, albeit jaded, but i would never dream to say it.
And as we sat in the car rolling over dead leaves that were on stems months before
You asked me “Do you still like me?”
“well,” i replied – I had just lain with you
in a hushed affair with whispered I love you’s
how could i not like you?
Carnal wanton needs— hell of a thing.
But, I added
things were easier before that.
Now when I think i am to wait weeks until I see your face
It seems wrong
and this poem is far too long
to just be saying that I love you
so perhaps i do not.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
10/25/2014
”darling, it’s frightening! when a poet loves he might be an unshrived god enraptured.” - Boris Pasternack
The late october sun hugs our faces with a looming brilliance.
We are propagandic youths emblazoned on a poster in orange tint.
Looking forward to our victory– our war efforts, living in pride
followed around corners and sidealleys
by a most vague sense of wrong.
and when you turned to me to look–
I realized, with a horrible feeling,
I was in a sort of strange complacent love.
It’s not to say i was in love –
That had happened months before when I’d refused food and drink at the Independence day celebrations
smiling at chinese invention gunpowder in the american mideastern
sky.
But to say I was good with whatever was, albeit jaded, but i would never dream to say it.
And as we sat in the car rolling over dead leaves that were on stems months before
You asked me “Do you still like me?”
“well,” i replied – I had just lain with you
in a hushed affair with whispered I love you’s
how could i not like you?
Carnal wanton needs— hell of a thing.
But, I added
things were easier before that.
Now when I think i am to wait weeks until I see your face
It seems wrong
and this poem is far too long
to just be saying that I love you
so perhaps i do not.
part of the "mariology" series
(early autumn 2014)