Inspiration

Of late, my work has focused on the loss of tactility in our everyday experience as urban people. There is a great distance between the physical world and our conceptual engagement of it. Food is not recognizable from it's original state, music is downloaded and "face time" means screen to screen communication. This poetry longs for a recovery of our proximity to real presences and states.

One aspect of this exploration involves the use of typewriters. I find that the visceral nature of typing on these machines inspires an appreciation for each word and intimates a rhythm that would never be perceived otherwise. Many of these poems begin on the subway and then get banged out on my Olympia Report Deluxe Electric. I truly hope you will enjoy engaging with Tactility.


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Visitation

I begged you not to come closer,
I said this inside my mind but I knew
You would hear me.


"I think I will lose my shit", I said.
It's true, I want this.


I am not surprised
that you are capable of this,
coming into my dream.
I'm just a bit rattled because
now I'm awake
and you're still here and
that song from my dream is still
playing in my head,
or out of it.


You parachuted into my dream.
You materialized,
took form and character,
unrecognizable,
but I knew you.


In my dream I could trust you.
It was as though I already knew
I would win.


I played the carnival colored organ
and the lights swirled around us.
I was allowed to play it and it
played the only song it knew:
The song of my reparation,
"All things mended, all things well...."
Pressing down
on the organ pedals
with my feet
like a man running  
the last mile home
from war.


Your eyes are steady now
on the dials whirling
over the organ pipes,  
and the lights flashing
purple and green
and pink and blue.


I don't care what happens now.
I'm awake
and you're here.
You've met me.
But where have I been?
I know you won't stay.


"Play the song", You say.


I'm writing down everything You say,
It will be over soon,
and I'm almost grateful for that.


You're intense now
more than usual.
What's that?
O yes,
ask you anything.
Well, yes.


"Did you want me to go to seminary?" I said.


"I don't want you to do anything…in order to prove your worth", You said.


On the couch I feel sleepy again.
"Are you leaving?" I said,
"No." You said,
"Thank you", I said, "for coming"