Two poems with buildings
BLINDFOLDED
I rest my head against your chest
as we lay supine, toes intertwined
atop the lobby carpet of the
high-rise office building
an executive’s pant-leg betrays his hidden position:
crouched behind the secretary’s desk opposite
the plate-glass window-wall
(the building is empty, save for us)
“Maybe you can find a job in publishing,” you say.
“Maybe. You’ve been so nice to me today.”
“I’m sick of you being out of work,” you say.
“Shut up,” I say, “you’re forty-two.”
(we think of kissing but we don’t speak)
let the city fall to ruin
our house will be made of stone
I can tell you anything
as long as you keep loving me
all around us, all I see is darkness
TOWERS OF JANUARY
smoking winds blow
fast above the train
tracks cutting
through the
island
when I come home
you heat the bed
just like a coal
I am a war-cloud
with drooling eyes:
fumble out blind between
painted concrete blocks of buildings
grids of options, grids of choices
and the whitest terror
of ashes and milk
but, then:
we make love—
dark green jungle dreams
the sweat behind our avatars
the birth and death
of hard blue stars
(relax, relax)
between my ego and the city
the only place to rest
is in your arms
Hi again. I’m doing this every week now, it seems. I hope you don’t mind.
This newsletter has become a way for me to dust off the writing I’ve collected over the last few years. I dream of putting it all together in a book, which fast becomes a nightmare about them sitting unsold in my closet. This is safer.
I’d like to thank the few people who subscribed last week. I had only made the option available as an experiment, but the support has been very encouraging.
To those who read and send responses, thank you as well — it’s always exciting to receive a letter from a stranger or a friend.
IV