poems

31 July 2014

#15: The Lost Nudes

Who knows, in the end, at the water,
if it is your life keeping you hostage and how much
or the lives of others and how much between you all.
What you might not pay
to learn what fraction. Would that
not be the key? Or a key.
Or, righter than 'keeping you hostage,'
'getting in your way?' Interruptions
on a horizon you were built to build.

How spectacular a man looks
exiting a shower
before either of you has said so.
Of course it's okay.
You accomplish your disposals.
Before you, the tide falls back:
drenched vibration.

How much of the cordage is yours
and how much has reached you
after extended travel inside others.
Rope in the shape of a door.
Shrouds supporting the mast.

26 July 2014

de Keats

I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read—I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School—and I will call the Child able to readthe Soul made from that schooland its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways!