Jan 2014
How many days left in my body?
How many poems left in my body?
One and the same, one and the sane.
My body is my poems.
You cannot distinguish me
in any other way.
eye-scans, fingerprints, belly buttons,
areolae.
all possess, all differentiate, none suffice,
I say it thrice, still you do not understand,
none not a marker singular,
they are not me,
nor are they you.
so if you read but one of my poems,
my body,
you do not know.
but when I find you perusing, exhuming,
the-ones-that-went-before
then you will, can know as well
as I know myself.
each poem a pore,
each pore a poem.
How many days left in my body?
How many poems left in my body?
one and the same, one and the sane.
my body, my poems.
my body is not episodic.
turn on the tv, no imagination leaps needed,
but each and every contingent on the prior,
each poem a stepping stone to the in side,
insight to the story of the body.
more story than poems,
I began in the beginning,
believe me there are thousands
of writs that lie about, lay about,
that sunshine has n'ere exposed.
but enough survived
enough shared, enough spent,
You have never seen my face,
what matters that,
when you have seen my poems,
my body, more than windows into,
they are the very pores of me.
Jan. 26, 2014
How many poems left in my body?
One and the same, one and the sane.
My body is my poems.
You cannot distinguish me
in any other way.
eye-scans, fingerprints, belly buttons,
areolae.
all possess, all differentiate, none suffice,
I say it thrice, still you do not understand,
none not a marker singular,
they are not me,
nor are they you.
so if you read but one of my poems,
my body,
you do not know.
but when I find you perusing, exhuming,
the-ones-that-went-before
then you will, can know as well
as I know myself.
each poem a pore,
each pore a poem.
How many days left in my body?
How many poems left in my body?
one and the same, one and the sane.
my body, my poems.
my body is not episodic.
turn on the tv, no imagination leaps needed,
but each and every contingent on the prior,
each poem a stepping stone to the in side,
insight to the story of the body.
more story than poems,
I began in the beginning,
believe me there are thousands
of writs that lie about, lay about,
that sunshine has n'ere exposed.
but enough survived
enough shared, enough spent,
You have never seen my face,
what matters that,
when you have seen my poems,
my body, more than windows into,
they are the very pores of me.
Jan. 26, 2014
Very very often I will read each and every poem you have written, one after the other. Thus, I am yours, but more importantly, you, are know-now, mine.
Reminded by Gina, to thank those of you who have rode along side me, and stayed. Though I won't mention your names, I know and therefore each pore is now partly yours, indeed more yours than mine, because into them, the poems and the pores, you bring life, delaying the answer to the questions the poem asks, but does not answer...
Reminded by Gina, to thank those of you who have rode along side me, and stayed. Though I won't mention your names, I know and therefore each pore is now partly yours, indeed more yours than mine, because into them, the poems and the pores, you bring life, delaying the answer to the questions the poem asks, but does not answer...
