Sta.sh
You cannot look directly at the ocean
Because the ocean has become the sun:
and it has been three long days
of rubbing you from my eyes like sleep,
the sky until it turns Kahuna blue
but it is only for the voice that's heard behind closed doors,
that we pretend we cannot hear
the things which cannot keep her eyes
from raking shores- to meet
the current strong enough to shift
the space between the islands-
so it is easier to read between the lines,
and harder through you. )
I am almost
too weak for capitals
the certainty of punctuation... is it
because i do not wish for strength
that your pupils widen to transmute
the sound of the highway into current?... i am
certain of nothing except
that you are not .
Are you afraid
to be alive? Will you not
move together the continents with
your convulsions at the ocean floor? Are you
afraid of running out
of breath?
(We will uncover the finale on the fringe of our stiff fingers,
stored in the clammy fumble for the keys; the way the wind will clench
your teeth in arid preparation for the crawl of water over skin.
I will not get tired, like my body might. I have seen
the undulations of the land tremble at the thought
of losing you, I have seen you tremble at the thought
of leaving, and you say it makes you alive, but you do not remember death.
and so its just another forge-ahead and reason not to be afraid, because
I have seen you trace the weak line of destiny on your palm
like mountain ranges you can't see from your depth, and I can tell you
that the lights are shored against the flooded highway, but
you won't believe me till you're looking down
that the sky is all you need
to remain unchangeable
You have seen the poetry I cannot write:
a city sinking for the sky- will you tell me, can you say,
that it is our fault for falling in love?
Because the ocean has become the sun:
and it has been three long days
of rubbing you from my eyes like sleep,
the sky until it turns Kahuna blue
but it is only for the voice that's heard behind closed doors,
that we pretend we cannot hear
the things which cannot keep her eyes
from raking shores- to meet
the current strong enough to shift
the space between the islands-
so it is easier to read between the lines,
and harder through you. )
I am almost
too weak for capitals
the certainty of punctuation... is it
because i do not wish for strength
that your pupils widen to transmute
the sound of the highway into current?... i am
certain of nothing except
that you are not .
to be alive? Will you not
move together the continents with
your convulsions at the ocean floor? Are you
afraid of running out
of breath?
(We will uncover the finale on the fringe of our stiff fingers,
stored in the clammy fumble for the keys; the way the wind will clench
your teeth in arid preparation for the crawl of water over skin.
I will not get tired, like my body might. I have seen
the undulations of the land tremble at the thought
of losing you, I have seen you tremble at the thought
of leaving, and you say it makes you alive, but you do not remember death.
and so its just another forge-ahead and reason not to be afraid, because
I have seen you trace the weak line of destiny on your palm
like mountain ranges you can't see from your depth, and I can tell you
that the lights are shored against the flooded highway, but
you won't believe me till you're looking down
that the sky is all you need
to remain unchangeable
You have seen the poetry I cannot write:
a city sinking for the sky- will you tell me, can you say,
that it is our fault for falling in love?
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We will uncover the finale on the fringe of our stiff fingers,
stored in the clammy fumble for the keys; the way the wind will clench
your teeth in preparation for the crawl of water over skin.
--love this.
it actually developed in my head over the course of a day,
when I had no way of writing it down. (That was day one.)
I am so glad that it strikes the right chord in places
hmmm, this has happened to me before.