Thursday, August 26, 2010

I want this to be number 41

So I'll say it is.

The Consequences of New Albion

1.
We built between us a city.
You built the bridges that spanned me, the river that we both named Safety.
I want you to remember, delightful,
that I did not lay these cobblestones alone. You were beside me,
you were the one who suggested brick. You
taught me to lay grout by taking my fingers in yours
and running them down that smooth slick groove.
The pleasure gardens, as well, were yours.

2.
"To walk the city of New Albion was to understand what want will look like, after its been satiated. The couches at crosswalks, the small clean bathing pools in the lobby of every hotel and on the roof of every apartment building; the city made me want to rest in it. New Albion has always made me want to go home, where ever that is. I was born in Lancaster Maine, was schooled in Zaire, I've bought a house in Quebec, but New Albion, while it stood, was the only place I've ever been that made me fall asleep curled around building corners. It was that protected and settled and warm. You never needed sweaters, not in New Albion."
-"Disappeared Cities of the West Coast" By Samuel Marks

3.
Now.
I wake to walk alone.
The trees come apart in splinters when I touch them.
I should fix that.
Buildings calve like glaciers.
When I pick up the phone, I hear only a rustling of dried cicada shells.
The memory of this city's glory eats me in small, tender bites.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

I'm sorry, I'm tired it's one and the same

This has been a year of surviving. Writing requires a certain joy from me and hope, both of which I have lacked this last year. I'm going to try again. Wish me luck

"Untitled": By Marilyn Hacker

You did say, need me less and I'll want you more.
I'm still shellshocked at needing anyone,
used to being used to it on my own.
It won't be me out on the tiles till four-
thirty, while you're in bed, willing the door
open with your need. You wanted her then,
more. Because you need to, I woke alone
in what's not yet our room, strewn, though, with your
guitar, shoes, notebook, socks, trousers enjambed
with mine. Half the world was sleeping it off
in every other bed under my roof.
I wish I had a roof over my bed
to pull down on my head when I feel damned
by wanting you so much it looks like need.