i.
here is
the vast sea of winter, and
my heart is a tiny stowaway.
planks creak and nag,
beams shift and
i draw deep lines with my pacing.

the pulse deadens.
i am bailing out buckets
upon buckets
of cold.

and, and.

no--
no to you--
no to your blackstrap eyes and drumskin,,
no to the reds of your history and wine
your siren-song;
our enigmatic quips and endless defenses,
our poses

like some familiar cuteness, forgotten.

oh, the snow can wage.
let it.

don't we already know its deep silence?
its dull weight? and, ultimately,
its secession?
sigh.
what more can we say of a force whose only power is in its accumulation?

ii.
bury me.
cretinize me, i
am prepared to lose.
dole out your days to me, january,
lye-soaked,, in an effort to
leach some fractured version of our memory:

my hands,
your mouth
moving infinitely in the dark,
the way light
reflects on sugar.

by no, i mean,

01/22/2011

Author's Note: algo con alas de pájaro, algo de angustia y de olvido. (así como las redes de pesce no retienen el agua).

Posted on 01/22/2011
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