in the last year of so i read a lot of poetry. partly because i started liking it more, and partly because i had a hard time reading the large blocks of text in novels. and rarely, but sometimes, i try to write some. i’m not a very verbal person though, so…kinda self-conscious about it. time to CUT and PASTE and RUN …
The picture develops in our minds apart.
Alone I feel the anticipation volt
and stretch arms to share it with you-
not yet, a sweet wait is never shared,
but blesses slowly one by one
each sole sleeper in his makeshift bed,
waiting city’s width or continent’s drift
for invisible barges budging the dock,
for the quiet freight of our hands and heart.
To dark waters speedy each island parts,
and the earth expands through its distant people.
In minutes too ripe and heavy for flight,
the heart feels the unseen drag, the ripple
of want and draw of the coming fixed gaze
pulls like an elevator sinking right
as it should; every passenger in place-
asleep in the bed of their selves or upright,
spurred, yearning, know the thrill of the hurt.
Behind the gate a future stamps the dirt,
hides dark eyes behind tight four-legged turns
“Meet with me! Meet with me!” all things call.
I whisper into my arm, “Come Quick!
“Race to me, run beautifully, don’t inflict
more pain than needed to jump human walls.”