Three Sentences
It isn't a movement, seeing you
lift your left hand to the mouth as shut
as the integral math of you're not letting me in once
to homes they will always find no one in but him
and you, tired, wan, singular at your fraction
my being here ignoring and you there made.
Yours is stalwart, true, but mine's staler
than freshest stain fringed in war arrows,
product of an aborting mother who folds,
lions felled, horses dead, smelt scab,
a baby headless in attention and torso cut in haze,
and the total rusts bells owed of church.
It isn't movement: not finding you
an intentional respite pardons all
that does not hold true in my stance
that is just variation of standing up,
hands fractal in motion to beat of scream.
lift your left hand to the mouth as shut
as the integral math of you're not letting me in once
to homes they will always find no one in but him
and you, tired, wan, singular at your fraction
my being here ignoring and you there made.
Yours is stalwart, true, but mine's staler
than freshest stain fringed in war arrows,
product of an aborting mother who folds,
lions felled, horses dead, smelt scab,
a baby headless in attention and torso cut in haze,
and the total rusts bells owed of church.
It isn't movement: not finding you
an intentional respite pardons all
that does not hold true in my stance
that is just variation of standing up,
hands fractal in motion to beat of scream.
Labels: getting over, poetry, pop art, unrequited love
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