Tuesday, January 3, 2012

the language of should

the language of should

i know what i should do now—
of course
i have always known—

as if knowing is something
simple and clear
as ice formed on my fingernails

but should is no more a part of me
than not loving you—
as i know i should leave that behind—

listening over and over
to a song about letting go—
doing as he should and she wishes. . .

there is a much different story
here however—

a story of the bone of the matter
nailed, sanded, shaped with care

a story of being that is beyond should
and bitter to the fingertips

but this story can fill a glass
or make your eyes well up

unlike the commandments offered
in the language of should

in this story he built a house—
a façade in fact

an igloo of stucco and wood—
only the appearance of ice

like the appearance of letting go
if i were to bow before leaving

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