do a dive aped one

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+

As I look over the expanse of this moment, a container shaped of nil, that contains everything you have pushed this container through and everything that is to come. It is already full of the future
 because this moment is the only container

I reach into the water where I drowned you, reformed, a slippery fish writhing for the water, I let you go away, the silver light of my thoughts play across my memories so deep I’ll never know the bottom
like Ulysses but every second is a volume and there are more years than I have lived.  To the Lighthouse is here, À la recherche du temps perdu, The Red Wheelbarrow, Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra, Bodhidharma doesn’t stare at my mind for ten years, but for a now, inside the zero container.

You swim away, but there isn’t any coming or going. Just the silver sea of our brain. I stand by the water.
Actually I make the water stand.  I realize hand in hand is always but also my face in the mirror. I know you are my immaterialism and you refute me with a shake. The container spins out of balance on the table of itself. My mind bends itself out of peace. How much I do hurt myself with my beliefs. Our beliefs.

So much depends on the golden Madeleine beside the blue ever wall. Perhaps we will walk forever today and return this way and my beliefs will warm me as much as they now ice me down to the bone.

2 notes | 03.17.14
tags | poem | writing | chinneths | spilled ink | bjf


+

not to go up and down
drown or be summited
pave the world with movement
a wave that seems to end at the beach
sand that seems to end under the feet
hidden in all the grooves in the car’s seat
over my eyes so i can get to where we meet

and a wave extends again and you plash
into other worlds
and i may be the seafloor, the sky,
the glasses over my eyes
but i’ll always be the wave too
sliding past, a sort of adieu,
(but always the hello too)
rolling to someplace new



+

washed ashore

i saw on tv that the starfish were dying in considerable numbers
their legs would detach and swim away
i walked slowly out and looked into the sky, orion was pointing south
inside i opened the drain to the bath-tub and feet first
slid down to the sea

i was in the sky
“the horse head is a sea-horse,” he said
and handed me a fig from his belt.

i swam to carina and the starfish’s leg swam away
i reached to repair and
awoke with kelp in my hair.



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Until the steam beams some part of itself that wants to be the sun
I can come undone again and again and not yet I just wished until I saw sparks
they flew apart and made a fine static in the dark
the multicolored dust lit by some spirit-shine: a wish for you
ha I am just inside out sitting in the dark
I pretend you are there and I feel your phantom movements in my bed

I reach for the past

It wasn’t steam at all but your smoke-rings
and it wasn’t the sun
but me warming you with laughter

It’s true I probably wouldn’t want you now
but I would kill to go to the day you came back to me



+

i have become the dark swallowing something
like a tear
in my little car i paddle shift
a swan’s song draws me back into now
goddamn the sun
the dirt under the road unfolds into thoughts
i fly back and forth between bitterness and self deprecation
these two coming together over a small glimmering-light
beside my bed
san judas is almost burned out

i try not to let the light
get into you
dismantling what my mind
is trying to rebuild you as
i drive to where you
never wait
for

and my phone stays put

where did I go just now
into a dream last night
someone was smoking on my porch
but I could not see around the corner

I said: do not leave
and when i could finally see
your old swing, it wasn’t you
but a ball of your yarn burning

3 notes | 01.17.14
tags | writing | poem | loss | dreams | change | poetry | bad poetry


+

The walk out in the snow cushioning my thoughts
It has been years since you haven’t been in my poems
Why start now, even the snow has you attached

Our first winter together we crossed our fingers and wished
for historic blizzards, only to get a rainy 45° season.

Seven thousand years later you are six months gone
and I am wintering alone, with all the snow I could ask for
and even a blizzard thrown in.
I look over the burdened pines and I can hear the heavy

Snowflakes fall.

2 notes | 01.14.14
tags | snow | poetry | chinneths | writing | help


+ i dreamed i was working in algiers but i was always on tenterhooks like every job when i was youngeri finally just walked out
tethered by guilt to the world i said:if i wanted to be bourgeois i would be a criminalit was the door i wanted to watch
your purple light like the thirst i had after being lost all dayin canyon lands, but moved up into my mind and like a sand clocktrickling down into my chest burning every other feeling and sensation out. i made my every action to include the door with the purple light.i walked upside down when i paced so i could see though six thousand reflections of six thousand windows the purple light. the door leads to the hall where we walk and speak together. where we put the world behind glass and become zoo keepers of the others, the grey ones. all the others that had no color.
i rounded a corner and went back to workno one noticed my absenceand i could see out of the corner of my eyewith every carpal twist, destroying my armthe light going out. the only color left in my world going away

i dreamed i was working in algiers
but i was always on tenterhooks
like every job when i was younger
i finally just walked out

tethered by guilt to the world i said:
if i wanted to be bourgeois i would be a criminal
it was the door i wanted to watch

your purple light like the thirst i had after being lost all day
in canyon lands, but moved up into my mind and like a sand clock
trickling down into my chest burning every other feeling and sensation out. i made my every action to include the door with the purple light.
i walked upside down when i paced so i could see though six thousand reflections of six thousand windows the purple light. the door leads to the hall where we walk and speak together. where we put the world behind glass and become zoo keepers of the others, the grey ones. all the others that had no color.

i rounded a corner and went back to work
no one noticed my absence
and i could see out of the corner of my eye
with every carpal twist, destroying my arm
the light going out. the only color left in my world going away

5 notes | 10.19.13
tags | writing | purple | door | light | poetry


+ fullfathomjive:

fullfathomjive:

image

(via chinneths)

9 notes | 08.22.13
tags | poem | bjf | again and again forever


+

parts of the day she is there in a wide open white space
migraine-white and miles across in my head
i sometimes cry and relive our moments

other times of late she walks away in my mind
i can take deeper breaths and swim in a dry forgetfullness
i even find myself feeling guilty for not keeping her in mind

and back she floods the whole wide open white with the color
of her billion selves of every point in time she was with me
and i awake to a red face in my work too embarrassed to ask if i am alright

2 notes | 08.16.13
tags | bjf | poem | lost | love | writing | spilled ink | life is fun


+

“The world is gradually becoming a place
Where I do not care to be any more.”

—John Berryman (via sanityofmine)

(Source: forestfawnlette)

119 notes | 07.14.13


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