I

somebody is something important to be
i never knew i never knew
that i'd never be anyone that would ever be called somebody
only this old face, these old hands, this precious breath
rocking, rocking

II

children skate outside of my house,
in the square as i go to check the mail today
the children are motorized
they move so fast they take no notice of me
if the children cannot see me
was i ever here?

III

staring into the impending blackness
my pen, my heart
both more like strangers
next door my housemate talks to friends
and i remember nothing, nothing

IV

where are the holes? and if i cannot see them
will i simply fall right in?

V

black, black, the ink is black
my fingers black with blood
the poetic eye is black with heat
and black is the falling night
if i ever go to sleep,
i know the days will burn on
and black
black
the eyes are black

VI

a blind man does not remember
what has been
only what the air tells him
only what the passage of time exudes
if i was so blessed
i could hope to turn on the lamp at night
and find myself still made of flesh

VII

muse, dark, i am old, my god
and the light drags my skin to meet the earth
at night i float, i am wet, i am young
but in the day i am dry

09/26/2003

Posted on 09/26/2003
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