This needs a lot of work, I'm very amateur-ish at poetry, but I need something for this poetry collection print by Friday, because I was stupid enough to promise that in a flurry. So please, bash, destroy, critique!
1.
I wanted to preserve you, put you
in some solute and keep you straw-blonde,
with those pink budding capillaries in your cheeks,
keep you wearing those camisoles with the beads,
laughing with that frozen expression, your lips
turning soundlessly to some sheer joy.
Is it too much for me to desire this
image of us, incense-choked,
beneath the splash of posters
in your room?
2.
When the seasons reach middle-age
and the little yellow leaves stick to my soles,
coating the cement and being supernova abstractions,
I think of the old school. Sometimes more than think,
I dream, but I can’t gather the leafy fragments of thought
and they disappear into my waking, though remain fluffs
of fact that there was a shaping, my skin molded impetuously
from the press of the building’s dimpled bricks, and –
oh, I think I’m tired of remembering this,
but the rooms make me more rooms.
3.
It’s a curious thing to want a person to curl in grief
but love you with a hearty, lusty lunge for you. But –
you gave me your questions hugging piles of questions
and what – what could I do? I was there too, the same
place, the same gloom, and you pulled me to you,
begged for the cotton touch of a fleece throw,
and I only reflected your inquiries,
for lovely – I’m a mirror! Summer light,
Spring light, the dusk light we watched,
no matter where we are,
darling, I am a mirror.
4.
This is ridiculous, I have no jargon for this,
the swagger of time is beyond my comprehending,
who measures a minute, who requires a forward procession?
I quite like to be still, framed, plugged in and clipped down,
and though I won’t be touching you, I know of touch,
so I wish to float in this contained atmosphere
and merely know of the feel of you, enjoy
this knowing.
5.
How are you not afraid of living?
Where where where
did we fail, our communication dwindling out?
As a humanly being I have this disgusting, maddening
impulse to get these intangible, floating, flying, carbonated
thoughts, cognitions, mental happenings, out – out – out
of me! I tussle for a conduit, I only want to pry out each
of these – these-
feelings, ah, notions, and throw them
on the sticky wet Autumn ground
where you stand, be rid of my words
and you could just look
at them…
6.
I wanted to preserve you, the you that
was the trophy of the days when I thought
it was just truly fantastic when the world was
swathed thick and dark and imperturbable
when it rained. I wanted to keep you
wearing cheery gloss and how we put time
into thinking of the smell of the watersoaked soil,
the thirst-quenched moss after the storms
that frequent Spring.
Now,
I just don’t care
to try anymore –
my memories wash away
like the dirt too.
