Strangely Intangible: A Collection of Poems
Strange Kind of Height
Last night I bared my soul to the harshness all on my own
And I waited for it to make me feel better, feel alive, but in the end like always I have to wait
Until my Wanderer returns to pick me up and throw me into sunshine.
Let me know when you get here,
Tell me when it’s real is it real yet?
Can we hold ourselves together without your tape and glue?
Have the stitches dissolved into the color of your iris without a trace?
Don’t go don’t forget about me
But will you leave me alone?
Because I’ve asked you everything and I’m done trying.
So are we holding on
Or will this end forever?
You’d better jump down off your imaginary pedestal because it’s starting to shake,
And sweetheart I don’t want you to get hurt when it falls.
Just let go and jump right down
Only please don’t hurt me when you do.
You can’t remember what it was like once upon a time.
I can remember I remember
And I want you to know all about it
But you’ve gone too far away to hear me hear me.
Why won’t you listen!
I can’t let go of you because honey you’re my favorite color and my favorite song.
Can I see you hear you can we be the things we need to be to get out of here?
Don’t you miss the way we used to have it all
And now you’re just my fake idol at a strange kind of height,
And there’s nothing we can do about this,
But still will you come with me until I can survive on my own?
I can’t see you anymore but
If I listen close
I can hear you far away singing that song, the one we made together.
I can hear you singing it to someone else and every time it sounds a little more sad.
That song, you know the one which escaped our minds softly late at night before we slipped into a coma of darkness we thought would go away but we never walked out again.
Girl in the Grass
The kind of light that suggests a cloudy day.
(But if you look closely, you’ll maybe see a blue sky reflected in her black shoes.)
Legs lying one on top of the other, curled up on their sides.
With these tights, it’s the same deal as fishnets: black, but you can still see her skin beneath them.
Perhaps she was watching the sky before, but now her head has rolled, and her attention has been redirected to a blue soda can,
Or maybe beyond it.
Her hands clasped on her stomach.
Pale hands on a black dress.
Pale head, too, with a mahogany explosion beginning at the crown of her head. A cascade—it looks about five inches long—disappearing into green:
An endless green. (With bits of yellow.)
Like a carpet–a really fluffy one, one you can sink your feet into and not see where they go. But it’s an old one, worn out, so now you probably could see your feet.
Careful when you try, though. Two more steps and you might step on the girl.
The something of your eyes is harrowing.
But this is not for sale, not for show
The way you claimed it was, the way you lied it was.
We watched the semi-colored stars without understanding
What they were or where they came from.
They are dust, we are dust, dust to dust, but maybe in one lifetime
I’ll get to be something special,
And I won’t let you slip away.
Do we understand each other?
If I could pick your heart off a tree like an apple
It might make me happy,
If it didn’t make me cry.
And by the way, I miss you.
Yes, you, my undercover lover,
My unknowing savior,
Because you fix me when I’m broken, which seems to be a lot lately.
I want to keep you forever but you disappear and you’re
Like pain cold tired joy
Which you forget to leave behind you.
Do you expect me to trail along?
Well, I am not a bird,
And I cannot follow you.
Do Not Touch: Thoughts on Contemporary Art
I want to lose myself in colors,
Layers of colors
Like a dream of the way the world would be if
God had used spray paint during his Seven Days, if God were a punk-ass kid who thought he was an artist
And the world was his side-of-the-subway-car canvas.
The colors, the colors are sliding down my fingertips like unclothed truth, give me truth, give me paint and the hardest mountain to climb is the one which
Beneath your feet
Because it’s manmade, kid-friendly, understanding can be reached but do not touch the artwork, please,
Alright, I won’t but first you have to show me things I think are artwork, if it doesn’t look like art then I will touch it, I will
Dance on the misshapen, scarred landscape without trees
With hardly any signs of life, I need some signs of life send me a sign
God strike me down if I lie, do I lie, where do I lie asleep in a multicolored world beneath a sky crisscrossed by rainbows, so won’t you
Slide across the rainbow if you can if you dare to try you bad, horrible person YOU’RE TOUCHING THE ARTWORK.