Clouds and Trees

"Nothing ever goes away enough or arrives enough,/ and I want to cry when I think of my heart,/ muscle pounding in muscle, greedy always for joy." – 'A Warning', Eric Anderson

Month: September, 2010


The house is built out of stone.
or concrete rather.
Maybe the wooden beams hold the walls together
and tie them to the ceiling
or is that what these steel rods are for?

The couch is knit from pink mystery fabric.
or old red stuffing.
Maybe it’s these immovable zippers
or the arms we lay our necks upon.

You and I are made out of wood and stone.
or skin and stuffing.
Maybe we are the grass I plant within you,
the weeds we’ll kill before they grow
green and gold and warm to the touch.

Maybe you touch me
by breathing in the water droplets
which I leave behind.
or could these be steel rods
that hold us both together and apart?

We are built on old memories
or reusable concrete
We cannot believe
in a house that falls down
or an open door-frame
for a midnight tiptoe
maybe in
maybe out


The Human Condition

In two years I’ll find you
sitting on your ass in a window-seat
You’ll tell me that naturally,
I don’t know what real beauty is

A week later you’ll buy me an easel
and I’ll paint you into something
like a Magritte within a Magritte
entitled “The Human Condition 1”

Together we’ll smile at how
the paint, the mirror, the perfect poem
(something written in hieroglyph),
pupil and iris, must all be suffering–

the reflection of a woman in a window-seat–
not a woman in a window-seat