Labor of lust

Maybe because he wears

cuff links and smiles in a suit, 

even though his lips are small,

he is in demand and the girls

who believe his magazine words

are willing to pretend that

He is worthy of the front page.

Headlines are not made like this

but we are in a recession

of ideas, words, the short run

that will shift soon enough

and leave us lying there

lying about the supply 

for a chance to rise.

He is not a partner yet

but they know that he is coming

and looking at the reflection

their expectations are dollars

and it makes fiscal sense

to capitalize on their offense

grafts for gains.

Dad, you would be so proud.

I noticed the cuff links and knew 

the type of shirt and he 

bought me a martini, gin doesn't stain

which was appropriate for his silk tie, 

the end of which as later 

means to pull him aside and kiss.

We drove, top down, irrationally

Down one-way streets and dark alleys

but the output and the income were

the same and we were happy

to let it be and play the game

theory being that we would forget it

in the morning, a small price. 

I am only a journalist.

For my account, he was an aggregate

of effects, displaying effectively

the effects of well-being, being well off,

well-liked and I hold him accountable

for pulling me down so smoothly. 

I should have laissez-faire.

-poetry two assignment four

too much too fast

Hemingway's vital, vibrant masculinity became depression upon a sudden realization that he could no longer measure up to the legend that he had created. 

Too much logic has made me feel forced to prove the worth and relevancy of this statement and that's a problem. It isn't about logic or relevancy, if then, transitive, that isn't important. It stands on its own and it doesn't need to be proven true because it is, it is true for anyone who has ever done anything great and gorgeous and felt that then crushing stifling sense at the end of it that they will never do anything so great again. That the climax of life came too early. 

Looking at some words I wonder how they ever got there, because I don't even recall thinking of them, no less putting them to paper, and I feel sure that I could never recreate such an emotion again. 

Some people walk the world as deities and some people fall. It is not so hard to accept a fate that has taken a direction other than deification. It is only hard if once have been on that road the road drops off and falling fast you wish you'd never been so high because being already on the ground would have hurt so much less. Never having tasted ambrosia, mortality comes easily. 

But I was there

Ambrosia on my lips and I could taste it

Sweet, ripe, round

Luscious dripping down

D

   O

     W

        N

Trailing sticky sweet over chest

To bare legs and green grass

And then it fell, following

The nectar to some place we knew not of

And forgive me for I couldn't follow

With empty hands

Words were hollow, worthless things

Never having tasted it 

They were so sorry that I'd lost it all

Pity burned the traces of the taste

It would have been a fairer fate

To have started somewhere there

Down where it had fallen

D

   O

     W

        N

And falling far too fast 

I collapsed, flying past the fruit

Onto cold, hard ground

The passers-by didn't seem to mind

They'd been there such a long time

"It isn't so bad," they said

I felt the course of sugar on my skin then

And closed my eyes

Licking my finger

Reminding myself that they were wrong

The taste was not a lie. 

Wild with anticipation

Click click click

Up and down and up again

Or was it down and up and down again

The table would know better

As he in his

Aptly placed cacophony

Searches for inspiration

Click click

Now there isn't even 

The illusion of a point

And so it must have been 

Down up down

I think

If I counted the clicks correctly

And now they come with maddening

Constancy and he is getting nowhere

And the page is blank

His mind is full of noise

Click

And suddenly he starts

To scribble furiously

Ferocity finds the page

And he puts pen to paper

Until

Suddenly

It stops.

-poetry two assignment two

blink and breathe

There is nothing like this

life of immediacy and instant

                     gratification, guilty satisfaction

          pleasure and isn't it perfect

That I dreamed it all this way

Recalling walking down the hall and              knowing

just knowing that beginnings would be better

          beyond             the occasional flicker of feeling

from those youthful kings and queens of memories

   Who never will have the proof

                   but for         Scotch and soda

That the world has changed and 

I am unbearably better, and honestly happy

           Their poignant politics of pretty things

Rings rife with nostalgia and regret

                    While now my heart beats twice as fast with a half-smile

I look at them and laugh that        they are lost

It is painful to pretend that those years had no cost

But now the world is warm at my fingertips

And they were an illusion that can be eclipsed. 

-poetry two assignment one

I am not tied to time.

I forgot to lock the door. There is even a sign that says LOCK THE DOOR, and I forgot. It's just that it isn't something that I would think of... anyway. At least the exit signs that weren't torn down last weekend remained intact. For now. It is only Saturday morning. Afternoon?

I don't understand how the world doesn't stop 

and it's always spinning fastest when I have something to say. 

It used to be midterms and finals, now it is general life, courses, that simply don't

allow me the time to write enough

and I am always most inspired when I can't be. 

If you don't let it come it hurts a little. Mostly not physically. 

And there was so much time before, and I wasted 

wasted it. 

Now I don't even lock the door

(though to be honest, I didn't before)

and clothes are piling up and there are post-its with dates and papers. 

I have so much to say but I would rather mean it. 

That is time. 

We are currently seeing other people. 

I'm thinking of wearing a watch today, though it may send the wrong impression. 

I want to write, but I wouldn't like to be exclusive.

When I know more, I'll rendezvous again here.