blp
04-18-2006, 12:11 PM
1.
But what am I supposed to do with happiness
He wonders in the light green darkness
an upstairs room in the afternoon
the kernel of the universe suddenly
the yolk,
He belches and you laugh
The kind of talk you realize
That makes you happy
and could provide a form of parity
or material for an anecdote one day
‘I remember
being happy‘
or could be the beginning of a story
2.
On the pavement
below a belittling giganticness of white sky
grit flies into your nose, eyes, mouth and hair. Old computer monitors
lying around anyhow from
this sludge of incipient beige goo, grease, squashed chips,
grubby chip paper, cigarettes and the blur
and scream of traffic
in this fuzz and static
he begins to provide a focus
illumination
a becoming
presence
air
to give your chest an inspiration
whenever he appears
so that, as you tell it to your friends at college
(before you’re even certain)
you think, maybe,
‘This one’s a keeper.’
2.a [interlude]
You have dreams of
rapidly repeatedly changing your underwear,
being chased by a dog
with a vaginal mouth
teeth sharp in the labia
(It only wants to lick you)
Perhaps it’s happiness
that makes you willing to think of them after you wake up,
these little pieces of yourself,
these little things you thought you didn’t like so much,
that makes you suddenly want to pat them on the head
and draw them in
to keep them
3.
But he doesn’t remember his own dreams
even when he wanders in the darkness of the flat
putting his pillow in the sink
running water on it
crying
and parity, you realize,
is maybe not so easy
when having each other means
just having another measure
when it’s him who wants to keep you
in the things he thinks are most becoming
and doesn’t want to either
in a too small universe composed
of numbers
constellations
of glinting beer bubbles
so that eventually he seems like nothing
like air
(escaping in a belch)
Maybe this is why he comes in drunk
at 3 a.m.
(because he had another measure)
because he resents having to keep you
when he keeps nothing of himself
Because he doesn’t know what to do with happiness
can’t even keep it
as an anecdote
and some stories, you realize
you don’t feel that crazy about getting to the end of
But what am I supposed to do with happiness
He wonders in the light green darkness
an upstairs room in the afternoon
the kernel of the universe suddenly
the yolk,
He belches and you laugh
The kind of talk you realize
That makes you happy
and could provide a form of parity
or material for an anecdote one day
‘I remember
being happy‘
or could be the beginning of a story
2.
On the pavement
below a belittling giganticness of white sky
grit flies into your nose, eyes, mouth and hair. Old computer monitors
lying around anyhow from
this sludge of incipient beige goo, grease, squashed chips,
grubby chip paper, cigarettes and the blur
and scream of traffic
in this fuzz and static
he begins to provide a focus
illumination
a becoming
presence
air
to give your chest an inspiration
whenever he appears
so that, as you tell it to your friends at college
(before you’re even certain)
you think, maybe,
‘This one’s a keeper.’
2.a [interlude]
You have dreams of
rapidly repeatedly changing your underwear,
being chased by a dog
with a vaginal mouth
teeth sharp in the labia
(It only wants to lick you)
Perhaps it’s happiness
that makes you willing to think of them after you wake up,
these little pieces of yourself,
these little things you thought you didn’t like so much,
that makes you suddenly want to pat them on the head
and draw them in
to keep them
3.
But he doesn’t remember his own dreams
even when he wanders in the darkness of the flat
putting his pillow in the sink
running water on it
crying
and parity, you realize,
is maybe not so easy
when having each other means
just having another measure
when it’s him who wants to keep you
in the things he thinks are most becoming
and doesn’t want to either
in a too small universe composed
of numbers
constellations
of glinting beer bubbles
so that eventually he seems like nothing
like air
(escaping in a belch)
Maybe this is why he comes in drunk
at 3 a.m.
(because he had another measure)
because he resents having to keep you
when he keeps nothing of himself
Because he doesn’t know what to do with happiness
can’t even keep it
as an anecdote
and some stories, you realize
you don’t feel that crazy about getting to the end of