poems et cetera

RESONANCE                   April 7, 1990 23:55

candescent plasma overturned over
investment and reaving, no stasis
or balance or equi
in sigh
the properties of fluids, solids,
exhalations and inspirations, musing
and being 'mused' for a tricky
a perfect ream.  picture a woman
ankle deep in crumpled paper
every pencil gnawed down 
to a nubbin, knowing
and incapable of

chew the the's down. eliminate the a's
and hoe your own flesh for the enemy
adverb, the unnecessary

give entrance to the doorwarden, who
is locked out.  who is.  pat yourself down for keys
headshake and graphic shrug, the empty
pockets of the universal colloquial

I don't have them.  They went missing.

I lost them.  Someone (there's a thought)
has stolen them.

They are not necessary.  There is 
another ingress.  This way to the egress,
but I am already out.  

reagent of the crenellation.  

Fortress Idea.

My arquebus does not fit through the slot.

But do I have to?  I address you:

Come back.  I am the one who leaves.  Depart.
I have no choice but to stay.  I am stuck in this
<    >, this [        ], this horrific 
which can be anything but your presence,
saving your presence.  your candescence.

I was living in Toronto when I wrote this. At least I kept track of when.



It is a catalogue I speak of, love’s most
pressing substitute dismantled and contained.
Membrane, pelt and tendon form
a plain text read with sober mind
by a surgeon, translated in life to
sculpture and dance, ink and silken billows.

He arrives in cotton, sober as a butler
. hair shorn to show the bones .
appearance is useful and trivial by turns.

Words fail, misunderstandings riot in the cracks
I reach through them to the motion that swings
through his calves, through his back
appalling and perfect
withdraw amid caution and confusion
plunge forward.

It is this sensation I sought, somewhere
between the stifled laugh and the attunement
dwelling in his arms.

I will not cede to youth the rights
of desire and requital.

I find, among
uncounted pauses, during which I summon
from the steam and garlic of another meal
a kiss, perhaps the warmth retained by a coat
or smile’s imprint, all teeth and merriment
a buoyancy unlinked to the joke.

It is dormant adolescence I recite
oppressed but not effaced by setback
and denial. Lust is as strong
as the death occluded by these
moments, for which heaven’s a mere gloss.

To spare his feelings, I won’t name the person I wrote this for. He’s still ridiculously hot. And smart. And nice.

2005-05-15— Posted by: allegra

I don’t normally buy clothes for John, but an XL black silk shirt covered in multicoloured frogs for 5 bucks? Perfect for cons, and packs like a dream? It’s verra nice. (2019 says – his future housemate Juliana ended up with it)

Paul and I are very clean at the moment. There’s something about being completely clean and just having changed the sheets that makes domesticity a beautiful thing.

Earlier we swept the driveway, did the edging on the walkways and policed up the cut branches so the back yard doesn’t look quite so ratty. The lawn guys have already started and Paul’s raked at least two cubic metres of moss up over the last couple of days.

Katie’s at her non BF’s.

Keith is reading the latest SIP. (That’s Strangers in Paradise, and Brooke, hate to tell you, but I am actually pointing you at your next addiction.)

Paul had such a good time last night that we are thinking of instituting a once-a-month version of the Friday Night Veg-in, which was an institution when I was growing up. Goodness knows there are a lot of really watchable movies out there.

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Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

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