i.
When I catch up with myself I'm never what I expected me to be.
"Treat yourself as you would a friend."
(Say hi and smile and offer to buy breakfast soon)
"We'll have to catch up soon..."
When I catch up with myself.
ii.
Youth is not so much fading as it is fixed.
Something held and then let go.or. Something tampered with.
Something snatched away from limp hands grasping Cheerios
Fallen between the seats.
iii.
Bricks and beauty change with years.
You begin to notice that bricks are different colors.
We touch the hand of a corpse
And neither the artificial flowers of the corpse are a pity to us.
"They are typical", we say
And we despise them
Only the truly special will escape us.
So very particular indeed.
There are demons crouching behind our teeth
Making us animals,
Making us things,
Making us kings.
iv.
Simplify this supper of the lamb.
Give me blood and oranges.
Do you pertain to me?
Will we duel for the hope of it?
Will I find it fitting?
v.
But let's keep in step. There's a rough edge here. A sharp cadence calling: adrift, adrift.
Your refuse will not boat the sirens song again. No, the sailors have all but three teeth and
Will be feasting at long tables of pine.
I'm too impatient to wait for you there. Forgive me if I taste the soup and stare mournfully into my spoon.
My face looks far away...I miss my face in the muddied orb of my spoon. I've kept it for you. Will you
Have me now? Have me whole. This urgency we've known...What is mercy?
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.
