TWO

What to do with
emotions the kind
hooked to memory
you can't let go.
Things could be
worse. Stars still
revolve in the sky.
You do what you
need to do and send
yourself a letter.
Dear so and so why
this angst. Why not
give it a rest.

From Okir (revised),
Wednesday, August 25, 2004

I suppose that I often write
to friends or blog because I
just want to tell/hear stories
just fill up space, which is
to admit loneliness. It's too
warm in this room and I break
into a sweat periodically.
I have to go outside and stand
in the cool night on the porch
behind the lattice and the sickly
vine. Which gives me a chance
to look up at three airplanes
blinking, converging on a star
then turning away each in their
own direction, one towards
the waxing moon, one diminishing
towards the south, the last
on a bee-line towards Monterey.
Once, on some opiate I confused
that street lamp for the full
moon. Tonight, stone sober,
I almost make the same mistake.

in
the sentence
there is breathing

lost
in space
subject to sentence

calling
from here
to another there

subject
to sentence
upon another's whim

inside
the sentence
there is a loophole

sentences
vary according
to your crime

inside
the sentence
there is a bed

subject
to closure
sentences seek error

beauty
depends upon
a broken sentence

it is waning of the crescent
a series of war illustrations
a memoir seeking pictures of
words. laugh track. reminded
of planetary (venus mars mercury)
conjunctions. between the eye
and a far off beautiful body ex
tinct personas, or what you
thought was buried. everything
comes alive again. time space
foreshortened. verdun cracks
a thin air skin of the eyeball
registers the dead. far off
laughter. one becomes concerned
about the period of indistinct
emotions coming round to visit.