Poetics

xlviii

— when was i last this alone
with anyone?
still,
not alone in that sense.

singular.

the pause before a thought, the coming to life of it,
the pause before that pause,

a place long after erasure,
after the coffee has long gone cold,
the two bodies having separate dreams,
one half-nightmare one insisting on traditional form.

a different alone. the effort it takes to reach some distant
thing you don’t yet know you know, the effort to be alone.
know alone as everything we have. or ever hope to have.

— when was i last this alone
with anyone?

offerings of herbal tea for the hangover, card tricks that won’t work,
my books meaning nothing to you.
now your gestures, now your silence. not everything is a code, you say.
a truth so wrong of my life it makes me happy. if my smile
is code, you don’t care: band practice is all that’s on your mind.
the combination of numbers that define us come to life
in the afternoon.
food is cooked
in expired spices,
embraces
offered and taken away,
rum is left untouched,
i know full nightmares will follow a day of sobriety.
 
i imagine you confronted with this violent
body that at one time is familiar then turns
into storm — think of it as viewed from space.
this proximity to danger you never seem to acknowledge.
— when was i last this alone
with anyone?

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