Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Archive for August, 2015

Complicated

So we talk about it
like adults:

the thing that makes us
feel as though
we are nothing like
mature

and there’s wistfulness
in the ragged hormones

because we both know
for sure
that no matter what
we’d like to do
in some wildly inappropriate
looking glass world

we are on this side
of the mirror

and we can see behind us
the shapes of all the reasons
we acknowledge
like grown-ups
in our reflections

all the reasons
why our friendship
is ultimately
more important
than the risk
of losing it

in the flash heat
of attraction
that would be hot enough
to melt the glass
scorch the earth
and take down everything
we’ve built up
in an effort
to do the right thing
for everyone…

It’s complicated.

So I tell you
it’s too late
for there not to be feelings
but that I
am responsible
for the feelings I own
and you say
you don’t mean to hurt me
with your honesty
or the fact
that you’re bewildered
every time
you look at me
frustrated
confused
torn

I offer to walk away
but we both know
neither one of us
is going anywhere

Despite the complications
we are not
going anywhere

we are not
going anywhere

(c) RCGA 2015

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Shiny

I told you
that I am philosophical
about desire

There are many things
that I have wanted
that I will never have

and there are also
many people
I could say the same thing
about

I have never
been spoiled
by the universe
into believing
I will get
everything
just by wishing for it

or that some things
will even be mine
after pining
and urgent toil

That is…
okay

No
it’s really not

But it teaches me
something
about myself
and the nature
of my desires
it teaches me
something
about the objects
of my desires
it teaches me
not to rely
on my desires

because they often
only reflect
a twinkling urge
rather than
a glowing need

and everyone knows
those stars we see
are not there
anymore
no matter that
we wish upon them
sparkling
unreachable
shiny

(c) RCGA 2015

Midnight Philosophy

Sitting in the screen glow
Kava brewing on the counter
waiting for your reply

Will your words be philosophical
or filthy
will the connection
always cerebral
float from one center to the next
an uneasy nexus
root to belly
heart to mind
back again

What is evolution

are we creating ourselves
or each other
by building up images
and wishful thoughts
clay of flesh
and blood of pixels
breath coming
from the exchange of words
and being stolen
by the intensity
of eyes joining
through a mechanical vector

Our animals speak
with the voices of gods

We have limited control
of the fractals of existence
only the portion
we can mediate in the moment

What would you like to happen

Where do you want to go

Is it already manifesting
and transmitting
from your retinas to mine
beyond consciousness
in a place
too deep to think any longer
without discomfort

My tea is done

I stir in the honey
and avoid your eyes

(c) RCGA 2015

man-staring-at-computer

Harvest

Words of love
are like fruit
hanging on a tree

tempting even
in their nascence

but plucked too soon
too green
unfinished

the flavor is not there
and they lie heavy
in the belly
unsettled
their promise
unfulfilled

yet if they are left
too long on the branch
they will rot
they will wither
they will lose
their sweetest moment
bitter on the tongue
burning the heart

Words of love
must be watched carefully
for that time
when rosy
complete
ripe with their paradox
both simple
and complex
they fall from the heart
of the tree
into your hands
and into your mouth

joyfully

(c) RCGA 2015

grapescissors

Do You

Do you want me
to write a poem
for you
made of images
and feelings
woven into words

would you wear it
out in public
like an uneven scarf
or ugly sweater
simply
because I made it

or would you
fold it tight
and secret it
in the back of an unused drawer
taking it out
only when I mentioned it

I wouldn’t mention it

The memory
of your textures
is more vivid in my mind
than anything I could create
in an attempt
to express it

the strands of twisted color
that reflected on your body
the curls pulling at your hair
from the moisture of sweat
the fathomless echo
of something we don’t speak of
sounding in your dark eyes

If I write for you
I may not share it
I may let you find it
left casually
on a bedside table
written with a golf pencil
on the back of a receipt
or at the bottom
of a grocery list
right after bread and wine

I may write it in the dust
on your car

As long as you do not ask
if I love you
I may write you a poem
made of images
and feelings
woven into words

(c) RCGA 2015

Hand-Writing

August Sunrise

She sat on the porch swing alone
dandling her legs
her spoon scraping plastic
as she finished
the Greek yogurt
drizzled with honey
and couching bits
of fresh melon
the scents
musky sweet
as her memories
of the night before

(c) RCGA 2015

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