Skip to main content

Introvert

It's the shadow of this thought
into which I've fallen.
This well of plots and characters
left unwritten.
Thank you for the nudge
but I don't remember meeting you
Oh! Yes, we made love so sorry
it's the shadow of this thought
through which a vision of you must swim.
Now I remember the taste of your skin.
Please take your place among the cast
as I step away and fall
And fall
And fall away.
I forgot to pay this bill? Sorry.
It's this shadow of this thought
into which I've fallen.
Chasing a naked girl
Correcting an injustice to make it right.
Sinned? Me? No, just walking and thinking
in a world of gray or into a world of citrus
and thinking
and thinking away.
Maybe we met when I knew your name
and you mattered in that moment
but my heart beats in the shadow of my skull
making you suspicious of me.
I know
and I know which way
the world turns toward the bright
and the loud, leaving the rest to live in shadows.
Doubly darkened by the shadow of our thoughts.
Have we met once before?
Taste me and let me know.

Comments

  1. SandyCarlsonJanuary 31, 2011 at 8:18 PM

    Heart? Vulnerable heart? Yes. This poem.

    Holy friggin' wow.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Haven FairfieldFebruary 1, 2011 at 9:15 AM

    Thank you Sandy

    ReplyDelete
  3. Aayushi MehtaFebruary 28, 2011 at 4:01 AM

    "I know
    and I know which way
    the world turns toward the bright
    and the loud, leaving the rest to live in shadows."

    Profound writing.
    Glad to have found your blog, thank you for dropping by. Looking forward to reading more from you.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Almost Invisible

No outstanding warrants on me I need to commit a crime Because no one knows me Somebody has always done worse Dad never missed knowing I could have done better Five friends at his funeral Never heard of me.  I was the smoke in the censer Shook over his casket Every morning shower, I make plans To change the course of history Every evening home,  I’m shattered Seeking the glue of vodka I can’t sow peace in my garden Without killing seedlings And mutating every myth of life Somewhere between skin and muscle Is the malignant cancer of a lie Somewhere between eye and sole Is the expanse of hope. 
Post a Comment
Read more

Beach Scene

Play with my hair. Pull the world in as close as the last drops of Long Island Sound that slip from your swimsuit down across the back of your thigh. Play with my hair under freckles of laughter, syllables and chirps, that christen us like parades of soap bubbles floating from the abstract crowd. Play with my hair before we play in the surf where we’ll shock parents. We’ll be inappropriate, the way we keep touching. We’ll blast “Youth!” in spite of our age. Play with my hair Our whispers sequester The crowd and claim this blanket As the Nation of Us Our consensus of two Inviolate, immutable and perfect.
1 comment
Read more

New England Season

Our New England season was warned to us. It was rumored in the smoke of August’s barbecue. And slipped from underneath a mulch pile. Our burly season sits in a weave of rag wool It whispers to us in hot cider steam And rides on hay bales behind a tractor. Our flannel season rests on corn field stubble. It stretches before us in shadows over gnarly bark And hides beneath dry fractured crunch. Our crashing season simpers in crumbling leaves It rushes, crushes and crinkles ahead of each step And blushes like pumpkins on your cheek. Our hand holding season snags the breath of a waterfall It wishes for hot chocolate, pie, and turkey And rides on the tail of a red tailed hawk. Our learning season rings its bell in pale grey linoleum It is a wide open bulletin board populated by thumb tacks And leaks out of your new backpack. Our gravestone rubbing season chaps your lips It knits charcoal in feathers with breezes And glistens like sugar and sap. Our Autumn reminds ...
2 comments
Read more