My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers
of my palms tell me so
Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish
at the same time. I think
praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think
staying up and waiting
for paintings to sigh is science. In another dimension this
is exactly what’s happening,
it’s what they write grants about: the chromodynamics
of mournful Whistlers,
the audible sorrow and beta decay of Old Battersea Bridge.
I like the idea of different
theres and elsewheres, an Idaho known for bluegrass,
a Bronx where people talk
like violets smell. Perhaps I am somewhere patient, somehow
kind, perhaps in the nook
of a cousin universe I’ve never defiled or betrayed
anyone. Here I have
two hands and they are vanishing, the hollow of your back
to rest my cheek against,
your voice and little else but my assiduous fear to cherish.
My hands are webbed
like the wind-torn work of a spider, like they squeezed
something in the womb
but couldn’t hang on. One of those other worlds
or a life I felt
passing through mine, or the ocean inside my mother’s belly
she had to scream out.
Here, when I say I never want to be without you,
somewhere else I am saying
I never want to be without you again. And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet,
in all of the lives we are, it’s with hands that are dying
When I don’t touch you it’s a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
i am super delighted to find out my grades were more than enough to qualifyi me for internship this semester. thank you Lord. :’) i still can’t believe it, i was starting to really feel like there was some dead end.
lately. ive kicked that first aid kit of drama out of the door, alongside his trusty ‘proverbial tub of ice cream’ sidekick.
summer. and with the most recent of events ive decided to be happy. and not just for a one time thing.
i guess the people you meet, and the catalysts they become for the overdue changes you’ve been putting off, locked in the attic, may not be entirely what you need. or want for that matter. but. in time. you’ll realize. and instead of hating them and cursing them in spite for leaving you bloody on the floor, rubbed raw and reeling. you’d come to think that you want to thank them.
because. happiness or pain or whatever they may have brought you. you won’t be the person you are today..happy and contented, and finally retired after a lifelong ‘rainbow chasing.’
scenery porn. bibliomaniac tendencies. and lumberjack stack of pancakes for breakfast.
(ha. i wish u_u)