the body of a man

Tonight my shoulders are strong,

my skin is olive smooth.

I tidy up, I make tea.

The house is quiet, white.

My skin is wasted on the night.

My thoughts, tonight, are wasted, too,

on days cast longways backward

drawn up from the timeline as flames.

My memory’s on fire,

those days ignited by the body of a man.

The body’s an empty silhouette

coming up the walkway to my door-

over and over,

repeat, replay-

puzzlewise his pieces take form

as my wasted skin makes contact-

then and now

so the fires leave me

leave me cold-

makes contact

with this:

a shoulder, bits of mouth, an eye too close and out of focus.

His parts rattle in the body frame

up different stairs to a green space

where previous thoughts of mine I poured

beneath my sound- jade,

so that when I go back, the jade place is

a still pool.

My mouth lay open to those waters

then and now

my face is captured in them, blank

headed does a body go,

now and then,

deliquescent into nights.

For my friend

I did not write this poem. I thought my friend should have something better. This poem is by William Carlos Williams. The Academy of American Poets has a lovely recording of this poem being read by Ron Silliman which can be found here.


A Love Song

What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love Is upon the world. Yellow, yellow, yellow, It eats into the leaves, Smears with saffron The horned branches that lean Heavily Against a smooth purple sky. There is no light— Only a honey-thick stain That drips from leaf to leaf And limb to limb Spoiling the colours Of the whole world. I am alone. The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky. See me! My hair is dripping with nectar— Starlings carry it On their black wings. See, at last My arms and my hands Are lying idle. How can I tell If I shall ever love you again As I do now? -William Carlos Williams