And I know you hate poems,
Oh yes I do
But today I'm writing poems
Maybe when it's done
You'll find you might have liked this one?
Love I love the hole in my heart
that brought me here.
Love I love the cold
Love I love the aching that becomes every night,
I love your island
Love, love must be blind
Must be deaf
Must have an I.Q.
An arm growing where its brain
I know I love your island.
I love the ferry
bow where the winds pass ferocious
that rises in opaque foggy nights,
The furrows in the owl
I love the islands imprinted in the stream
of perfectly navigable waters
And the rain
Love, I love the fierce
The Captain plying the shoreline
A stone’s throw
On a beach where magic surfed ashore
And will again Heisenberg
On feet numbed senseless with cold,
Fled and hiding in your island forest thick with trilliums
I love the emptiness no one cares,
Born running the way Springsteen
When you were the untouched paper under the pen,
When Bruce A.K.A. "Dad" and She A.K.A. "Mom"
Slept on board A.K.A. "bed" over Kid A.K.A. "You"
Hay rolling beneath the vast blue unknowing storms to be.
Before I loved the forest where your trillium
walked wingless down here below.
Damned and godless.
But I'm obeying,
See, I'm swimming,
Even though old men in town were saying there's no way of winning
They pray in Buddhist
Chinese dropping dominos under,
Those boring blue skies that gave way to frightening
Past remembered is ever being,
Christ, who do they think they're kidding?
No clock can stop an owl's flight.
Can you believe that when the checkbook
The muse will rise and in Laura Love
Will sing that I lost my way in the perfectly navigable waters,
Beside your island?
And the driftwood
from which they built the house.
I love those weathered gray boards,
I love the shelter
that kept you whole,
I love that people lived and died there,
And the ghosts
we were and will become
And life simply is and no one knows,
Or sees my footprint
filling with rain
In the mud between the hummocks
beside the tree branch
That seems like the trunk of an elephant
the children once rode,
In dreams no one will believe,
We two ghosts were standing there.
Because in my mind my love is a blind neurosurgeon
A deaf composer
with a glass eye and claustrophobia
An armless handshake specialist,
A fish drowning in a glass bowl at the carnival,
A serial killer
wannabe pulling the wings off butterflies,
Under a glass magnifying,
A solar flare
no one believes in.
I love your tragic desolation
And it is vicious, merciless, and unkind.
How else could that have happened?