Dark Matter

if I remember anything clearly
about us it’s this:
we went stoned to a carnival once
we made love on a grass bed
and the neon behind your shoulders
made me think I was loving the moon

if I could say this
to your face now
I believe you would be
astonished at the comparison
for back then
you did not like poetics
and were as practical
as an assassination

I’m tired
after all these years of wishing for carnivals
after all the meat and dirt of boundary and stink
I say this:
I don’t want to keep dreaming of how
I once made love to the moon
I want to wake up and smell the midway
the fried dough and the sweat of teenagers

I want to slap the gun
from your hand
and run

It was a good night.

I like those.

I want more of them.

I want more.

SPEAK was really good last night — everyone read great work, and we had a lot of fun amidst the darkness of the poetry (gads, it did take some depressing turns, didn’t it?)

Tonight is “Where Your Mouth Is” with Jessica Dalzell, Bill MacMillan, and Pamela Means. Proceeds to benefit AIDS Project Worcester.

And now…I go home to nurse a headache in the hope that I’ll make it out to this splendiferous benefit tonight.

I love most in myself
the things that have been crippled for years

the way I adore the twisted branch
on the maple tree outside my house

that does not leaf out until late in spring
and is the first to drop leaves in the fall

the twisted branch that I hold my breath for
every year hoping I will not need to cut it down

and it has never disappointed me
although it has frightened me

I love most in myself the twisted things
that recall their purpose at opportune times

when the way is risky
and there’s no turning back

I love these old tools
that sit in my hand so well

like a secret in the lines of my palm
or the secrets in another’s hand

With a bandoneon, a guitar,
and a simple brushed snare
playing behind them,
the man and the woman
slip across the dance floor
toward the cream-yellow patch
on the far side, away from the tables
of the artists and poets, away
from the lights and the half-empty
glasses, they move against each other
and together as if the night was
pressed solid against them, pushing them
together, their faces
twinned and close, they move across
red tile to the edge of the
sand, her toe hangs above while his
dips a little in,
her leg entwines his and disentangles
as quickly, and they circle the rim
as the music stays simple and pulls
them around together, sliding
against the possibility
of stepping too far into the danger
of the night, their hands moving across
their bodies as they dance away from the
tables of the onlookers and
pretend that
the hard floor is all there is,
even with the quicksand inches away;

but the music is lovely, and she
is lovely, and he thinks
he is close enough to lovely
to make it to lovely someday;

and they dance all around the quicksand,
tango far away from the other tables,
circle and turn together against each other
while the guitar and snare drum and bandoneon play.

Congratulations – you’re Serge!
Take Which MacMillan Cat Are You? today!
Created with Rum and Monkey‘s Personality Test Generator.

what I love most about
“ps”

is that it keeps up
the pressure
to not end
the conversation
and
ps:
it also
is
a whisper

So…update for today.

Couple of sharing things…

1. Bipolar news

Anyone heard from lowhumcrush lately?

1. Sitting in my briefcase is a check for 10,000 dollars that I don’t want; an unauthorized distribution of a student loan balance I keep trying to give back. No one will take it. I smell CUSTOM GUITAR!!!!! (Ok, not really. But it is tempting…)

2. The slam last night was terrific. Everyone was great; can’t say enough about how much I like the look of this team. Shira Erlichmann was a revelation. How did I miss this woman?

3. On the other hand, I feel like CRAP. Bad stomach distress. Not sure where it’s coming from, but I really feel awful.

4. Nick Cave’s “Abattoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus” double disc rocks my socks. Other than the Springsteen, best thing I’ve bought in a while.

5. I had a Hedwig-at-maximum-volume day while cleaning yesterday. “Put on some makeup…put on the 8-track…”

6. When does the new Sleater-Kinney come out? Cause I’m like jonesin’ for a taste o’ Carrie/Corin/Janet. (Note the prominent placement of Carrie first; this is because she is my perpetual rockstar crush. IJS.)

7. Ugh. I really feel crappy. I might go home.

8. Next post: new findings on bipolar disorder offer new hope to people who are intermittently hopeless and filled with hope.

9. Did I mention the Nick Cave album? How about Carrie Brownstein?

10. Time to call the financial aid office. All dreams come to an end, I guess.

I’m getting ready to kick back a bit then head to Worcester for the slam finals.

Wonder if I can sacrifice? Hmmmm….

Ah well. New guard in place. No reason — just go and have fun.

Luck and love to all. Go read javabill‘s post and do as it says.

spring semester’s done.

summer starts in two weeks.

first class: introduction to american civilization. includes books like “the queer sixties” and “women, race, and class” by angela davis.

can’t wait to see some of my classmates digging on this. can’t wait to do it myself.

outta here. i need sleep.

love,
t

I have never worked harder on any piece of writing for less satisfaction.

Yes, I’m sure.

I better have a monster poem come out of all this pent up stuff. I hate that level of frustration.

ETA: Been doing the layout game. Whatdya think?

Actually, I’m just in “finishing touches mode.”

Then, it’s onto my presentation preparation! Which will consist of printing another copy of the paper and highlighting key phrases.

After it’s done, I’m going to a kegger and puking on the dean’s lawn.