Monday, August 8, 2011

the constant narration of things unsaid

the constant narration of things unsaid


her voice puts me out of my misery
not like a bullet
but like a kiss

slow and warm and offered
with hands on backs
to pull each other closer


i have stared at this poem title for days
having fallen in love with the words
and what it might be and then realized

that is us there in the loving and hoping
what it might be sprouting from what is
and then i am writing the poem that should be

the constant narration of things unsaid
is the title of my brain or the way it runs
incessantly and always always back to you


it is not the always talking
to myself in my own mind

but the always listening waiting
for that voice that is only you

i have polished bricks into stones
worn my heart like a silver amulet

teaching myself not to fear the bird
singing silently endlessly sweetly

so i can walk to the rhythm of the story
that moves me and makes me whole


most men live lives on legends
bacchanalian adventures of gods
imagined and rendered to weave truth
out of tales dancing on the head of a pen

but not me

i have my memories of you and us
things said and done and bound
to my mind like angel’s footprints
across the permanent beach of my heart

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