350poem

October 20, 2011

Your song is bass in my bones
when you say you’re unwell
but the hum is silent when your air
rises up the steamy latitudes of calm.
Quiet me from the inside by being cool.
It’s always summer somewhere, go there.
Treat minutes like the eternity we won
elongating spines in moonlit playgrounds.

Yes, we will die and probably suffer too.
Your face never could hide that great concern
but not far from here banana leaves are plates
and the third eye is curried for good fortune.
Maybe they know something we don’t—

The obstacles are immense but our minds
can flex back against the expanding space.
I could lie to you and you wouldn’t know it.
These words could fall over themselves
then slip through the cracks until the mess
is irreparably dumbed to a kicked-about paste

but I prefer the confusion of perception.
Sacred truths at inconvenient moments.
Your balding lover listens to death metal?
My tropicalia is a few beats off, too.
Maybe that’ll put you at ease as you wander
the world bold and beautiful one of the luckiest,
one who knows not her own endless bliss.

LOCATION: Lincoln, Nebraska – Dedicated to the one who couldn’t move her body today.

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