whisper-whale
she was a sound bounced off a cloud
into my palm (shut tight)
my ears thin in your teeth and my teeth
present and separate and counting
i am ticking away moments like bird seed
meal to meal to meal
hand to foot to heart
cripple
i ache like the stars in the black, blue-white
i ache like the stars
like a pen scratching without ink
against a wall
i am the empty, echoing against
sky and smoke
you are the unswallowable night
whisper-whale
she was a sound bounced off a cloud
into my palm (shut tight)
my ears thin in your teeth and my teeth
present and separate and counting
i am ticking away moments like bird seed
meal to meal to meal
hand to foot to heart
cripple
i ache like the stars in the black, blue-white
i ache like the stars
like a pen scratching without ink
against a wall
i am the empty, echoing against
sky and smoke
you are the unswallowable night
she wore pink lipstick and blue eyes
and smiled like christmas lights
i can’t help but feel a victim to this new view
she was only a scratch and now a cancer
growing in me by rapid multiplication
i feel more than a little moved
a little depressed because a crush
never becomes an affair
i only become a little more a recluse
she wore a sleeve over my heart
and laughed like shattered crystal
as i shatter here just remembering
she wore pink lipstick and blue eyes
and smiled like christmas lights
i can’t help but feel a victim to this new view
she was only a scratch and now a cancer
growing in me by rapid multiplication
i feel more than a little moved
a little depressed because a crush
never becomes an affair
i only become a little more a recluse
she wore a sleeve over my heart
and laughed like shattered crystal
as i shatter here just remembering
i am a little like stale bread
as crusty inside as i am outside
and laying still on this abandoned dish
on this thin glass plate awaiting butter
or maybe gravy
wondering how gravity allowed these
invisible things
to leave me brittle
and white
i’m wondering when my life will
come to a sputtering halt or if
this is just the moment where everything
slows down just before taking off
every day i forget 100 essential things
every night i dream a dozen
meaningless dreams
and sleep becomes less and less appealing
i tried to catch your scent on the breeze
lifting off the lake
i caught nothing
the breeze was too weak
off the evaporating pond and
barely brushed the cracking earth
i slept and dreamt of a thousand locked doors
and a hundred useless keys
and at least a dozen reasons
why it didn’t matter anyway
i just wanted to smell you on the breeze
and paint a picture of it
i am a little like stale bread
as crusty inside as i am outside
and laying still on this abandoned dish
on this thin glass plate awaiting butter
or maybe gravy
wondering how gravity allowed these
invisible things
to leave me brittle
and white
i’m wondering when my life will
come to a sputtering halt or if
this is just the moment where everything
slows down just before taking off
every day i forget 100 essential things
every night i dream a dozen
meaningless dreams
and sleep becomes less and less appealing
i tried to catch your scent on the breeze
lifting off the lake
i caught nothing
the breeze was too weak
off the evaporating pond and
barely brushed the cracking earth
i slept and dreamt of a thousand locked doors
and a hundred useless keys
and at least a dozen reasons
why it didn’t matter anyway
i just wanted to smell you on the breeze
and paint a picture of it
i heard sirens
tonight
laying here
unsleeping in my
bed with this
emergency feeling
no need to stop at any lights
if you’re coming here
tonight. i’ll clear
the roads before you and light your path
with burning branches
and strong flowers and
shake here anxious on my back
stretching past my skin after you
with prayers written
on my lips, on my hands, on my knees
pulsing like a lightning rod as i wait
for you to arrive
in a fast car and flashing lights
just in time
to save my life
i heard sirens
tonight
laying here
unsleeping in my
bed with this
emergency feeling
no need to stop at any lights
if you’re coming here
tonight. i’ll clear
the roads before you and light your path
with burning branches
and strong flowers and
shake here anxious on my back
stretching past my skin after you
with prayers written
on my lips, on my hands, on my knees
pulsing like a lightning rod as i wait
for you to arrive
in a fast car and flashing lights
just in time
to save my life
it’s the sabbath
after a long night of
breeding regret and
strange dreams
i wake to invent
new promises to break
and resolutions too weak
to keep my back straight
but i feel a calm
knowing this morning
is not last night
and my face is not the same
rinsed off and holy i
could be
but dressed again and
perfumed i board
the N in the direction of water
and watch as a man,
sporting a gold chain
and a mustache, performs
chin-ups
and a woman with
arms packed full of bags
and baskets refuses to sit down
in the dog park a rottweiler
gnaws a femur
and occasionally i close
my eyes
i am much too
relaxed for a sinner
much to calm for a chronic
procrastinator, depressed
obsessor, obstructed creator,
empty handed procurer
if it weren’t for dog food commercials
i might not know what marrow
was, and yet i depend on
it. filling the space in my
bones, building up blood cells
i depend on a lot of
things i can’t see
i’ve built a life around it
but built another life besides
like a cancer, like a growing
black mole somewhere under
my clothes (a dependency on things)
and all of this blood and all of
these magnets pulling and pooling
draw these lethargic flies around me
tiny sentinels, vomiting
scavengers. yet still, in this place i grow closer
to understanding God.
it’s the sabbath
after a long night of
breeding regret and
strange dreams
i wake to invent
new promises to break
and resolutions too weak
to keep my back straight
but i feel a calm
knowing this morning
is not last night
and my face is not the same
rinsed off and holy i
could be
but dressed again and
perfumed i board
the N in the direction of water
and watch as a man,
sporting a gold chain
and a mustache, performs
chin-ups
and a woman with
arms packed full of bags
and baskets refuses to sit down
in the dog park a rottweiler
gnaws a femur
and occasionally i close
my eyes
i am much too
relaxed for a sinner
much to calm for a chronic
procrastinator, depressed
obsessor, obstructed creator,
empty handed procurer
if it weren’t for dog food commercials
i might not know what marrow
was, and yet i depend on
it. filling the space in my
bones, building up blood cells
i depend on a lot of
things i can’t see
i’ve built a life around it
but built another life besides
like a cancer, like a growing
black mole somewhere under
my clothes (a dependency on things)
and all of this blood and all of
these magnets pulling and pooling
draw these lethargic flies around me
tiny sentinels, vomiting
scavengers. yet still, in this place i grow closer
to understanding God.
our bodies
move in circles and
answer eachothereachothereachother
while we
go on unknowing
still trying
to ask for names
when
our lungs have
found a unison
our hearts are still
chasing
meanwhile. . .
our minds are still noticing the circles
and
not the fact
that our cells
are leaping
at eachothereachothereachother
our bodies
move in circles and
answer eachothereachothereachother
while we
go on unknowing
still trying
to ask for names
when
our lungs have
found a unison
our hearts are still
chasing
meanwhile. . .
our minds are still noticing the circles
and
not the fact
that our cells
are leaping
at eachothereachothereachother
still not too tired
to type this; write this; or send smoke signals
but too tired to remember this tomorrow
so, don’t remind me
just how cute and small I am, trying
to say these ordinary things in morethan-
ordinary ways
if you really must respond, please
let the words lay on your lips
I want only to know that moment
Just before the sentence lifts
And I hear air
still not too tired
to type this; write this; or send smoke signals
but too tired to remember this tomorrow
so, don’t remind me
just how cute and small I am, trying
to say these ordinary things in morethan-
ordinary ways
if you really must respond, please
let the words lay on your lips
I want only to know that moment
Just before the sentence lifts
And I hear air
A certain hour of the night slows me
down to single notes . . . long tones. . .
that pull my eyes in semi-circles.
just lying here, the hour folds me
like a paper fan. still, I just lie
here crimped along the bedsheet
naming the spots on the wall after
my regrets, for the ashes I am,
on crowded mantles.
A certain hour of the night
I dedicate to arson;
my several attempts to set myself on fire
(same place and time tomorrow).
Too many letters, too many words,
too many pictures with the faces blurred.
And what if I wasn’t thinking?
What if I wasn’t trailing off
(like words I don’t want you to hear)?
What if this match was real and
this bed was gasoline and I actually went to sleep?
A certain hour of the night slows me
down to single notes . . . long tones. . .
that pull my eyes in semi-circles.
just lying here, the hour folds me
like a paper fan. still, I just lie
here crimped along the bedsheet
naming the spots on the wall after
my regrets, for the ashes I am,
on crowded mantles.
A certain hour of the night
I dedicate to arson;
my several attempts to set myself on fire
(same place and time tomorrow).
Too many letters, too many words,
too many pictures with the faces blurred.
And what if I wasn’t thinking?
What if I wasn’t trailing off
(like words I don’t want you to hear)?
What if this match was real and
this bed was gasoline and I actually went to sleep?
my hands are curtains drawn
to block the sun. my eyes,
already scorched and hot,
like smoking guns, looking
for your icewater tall silhouette,
rocking chair body. To feel you
baby cradle rocking . . . rocking . . . rocking
Mes mains sont des rideaux dessinés pour bloquer le soleil mes yeux,
déjà roussi et chaud, comme les pistolets de tabagisme, recherchant
votre silhouette grande de l'eau de glace, basculant le corps de
chaise. Pour vous sentir basculer de berceau de bébé. . . basculer.
. . basculer
My hands are curtains drawn to block the sun my eyes, already turned
russet and hot, like the guns of nicotinism, seeking your large
silhouette of the water of ice, rocking the body of chair. To feel you
to rock of cradle of baby. . to rock. . to rock
Mes mains sont des rideaux dessinés pour bloquer le soleil mes yeux,
déjà tourné roux et chaud, comme les pistolets du nicotinism,
recherchant votre grande silhouette de l'eau de la glace, basculant le
corps de la chaise. Pour vous sentir à la roche du berceau du bébé.
à la roche. à la roche
My hands are curtains drawn to block the sun my eyes, already turned
russet-red and hot, like the guns of the nicotinism, seeking your
large silhouette of the water of the ice, rocking the body of the
chair. To feel you with the rock of the cradle of the baby. with the
rock. with the rock
Mes mains sont des rideaux dessinés pour bloquer le soleil mes yeux,
déjà tourné reinette-rouge et chaud, comme les pistolets du
nicotinism, recherchant votre grande silhouette de l'eau de la glace,
basculant le corps de la chaise. Pour vous sentir avec la roche du
berceau du bébé avec la roche avec la roche
My hands are curtains drawn to block the sun my eyes, already turned
rennet-red and heat, like the guns of the nicotinism, seeking your
large silhouette of the water of the ice, rocking the body of the
chair. To feel you with the rock of the cradle of the baby with the
rock with the rock
Original words by Brendan Bybee; translations by Sherlock™
my hands are curtains drawn
to block the sun. my eyes,
already scorched and hot,
like smoking guns, looking
for your icewater tall silhouette,
rocking chair body. To feel you
baby cradle rocking . . . rocking . . . rocking
Mes mains sont des rideaux dessinés pour bloquer le soleil mes yeux,
déjà roussi et chaud, comme les pistolets de tabagisme, recherchant
votre silhouette grande de l'eau de glace, basculant le corps de
chaise. Pour vous sentir basculer de berceau de bébé. . . basculer.
. . basculer
My hands are curtains drawn to block the sun my eyes, already turned
russet and hot, like the guns of nicotinism, seeking your large
silhouette of the water of ice, rocking the body of chair. To feel you
to rock of cradle of baby. . to rock. . to rock
Mes mains sont des rideaux dessinés pour bloquer le soleil mes yeux,
déjà tourné roux et chaud, comme les pistolets du nicotinism,
recherchant votre grande silhouette de l'eau de la glace, basculant le
corps de la chaise. Pour vous sentir à la roche du berceau du bébé.
à la roche. à la roche
My hands are curtains drawn to block the sun my eyes, already turned
russet-red and hot, like the guns of the nicotinism, seeking your
large silhouette of the water of the ice, rocking the body of the
chair. To feel you with the rock of the cradle of the baby. with the
rock. with the rock
Mes mains sont des rideaux dessinés pour bloquer le soleil mes yeux,
déjà tourné reinette-rouge et chaud, comme les pistolets du
nicotinism, recherchant votre grande silhouette de l'eau de la glace,
basculant le corps de la chaise. Pour vous sentir avec la roche du
berceau du bébé avec la roche avec la roche
My hands are curtains drawn to block the sun my eyes, already turned
rennet-red and heat, like the guns of the nicotinism, seeking your
large silhouette of the water of the ice, rocking the body of the
chair. To feel you with the rock of the cradle of the baby with the
rock with the rock
Original words by Brendan Bybee; translations by Sherlock™