The City In Which I Love You

from The City In Which I Love You
--

Like the sea, I am recommended by my orphaning,
Noisy with telegrams not received,
quarrelsome with aliases,
intricate with misguided journeys,
by my expulsions have I come to love you.

---

So I wait
well, while you bathe.
Feet apart, you squat; shoulders stooped, you reach
beneath to wash, and then I see
the mole on your right side, under your arm,
and I know - such knowledge
beautiful in its uselessness -
that it lies from your nipple
a distance precisely measured
by my left hand,
forefinger to wrist.

Quoted on April 4, 2011

from This Hour and What is Dead
--

God, that old furnace, keeps talking
with his mouth of teeth,
a beard stained at feasts, and his breath
of gasoline, airplane, human ash.
His love for me feels like fire,
feels like doves, feels like river-water.

At this hour, what is dead is helpless, kind
and helpless. While the Lord lives.

Someone tell the Lord to leave me alone.
I've had enough of his love
that feels like burning and flight and running away.

Quoted on April 4, 2011

from Furious Versions
--

But I'll not widow the world.
I'll tell my human
tale, tell it against
the current of that vaster, that
inhuman telling.
I'll measure time by losses and destructions.
Because the world
is so rich in detail, all of it so frail;
because all I love is imperfect;
because my memory's flaw
isn't in retention but organization;
because no one asked.

Quoted on April 4, 2011