The numbers wouldn't stop feeding themselves, they'd fill themselves until they'd be lying in agony, writhing in their contorted bodies until they burst from the seams. Their memories filled the air, gracefully dispersing beyond all eyes. A flower girl with her interminable train, coalescing with the carpet of the chapel, tossing her petals elegantly above her head until they would yield to the floor. Something stops everything. Fingers tasting skin, dabbling in intimacy, unfastening its buttons with a lack of fluent touch, for fear lives in those fingertips. Without effort they muster up emotion. Without experience they successfully master the handcuffs passed down by you. The metal bedpost rings, an imposing sound, an abrupt squeeze, subsequently your critical words. So I left you there without any dramatic parting words, without a formal exit. No one was home. I put the phone out of reach. I haven't heard from you since.
i don't make sense, i'm sorry.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
nearly you
a boy just shy of twelve
tied knots in his head
tied knots in his heart
around his wrists
tied knots with shivering joints
in a state of paralysis
temporarily
with ice in his pockets
and tissue in his shoes
to feel taller
to feel smaller
he formed rows of batteries
out of pure fascination
out of pure concentration
shook dreams from his hair
who never wished to be anyplace he ever ended up
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