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 Posted: Sun Feb 25, 2007 7:00 pm
Proof
I like math. It's fun to play with. Love is a FIbbonacci sequence.
i am unbalanced.
i want to say that i hate the phrase
"my better half"
because we're each whole,
we're each our own and
capable and independent upstanding adults,
that two hearts one spirit cannot make.
but i know that somehow,
the sense is a lie,
because without you
i'm not quite as good,
not quite as quick,
not quite as light.
i am incomplete,
irrational,
incongruent with all
that surrounds me.
you simplify me.
when you're near me,
everything is clearer,
reduced to elegance
but somehow expanded.
giving myself borrowed from me
should make me less;
and though i feel unburdened,
you also increment
the colour and depth
of my life, and
i'm for some reason
greater than i was before.
i don't understand it.
i don't understand you.
and i'm glad i don't,
because though i can see
your methods, your logic,
i can never completely
divide you into
neatly
numbered
steps.
you remain a mystery
that i can only grasp
abstractly, clinging
to the tiny flares
of understanding
that occasionally permeate
the cold, cultured
ignorance.
but then, i was never
all that good
at math.
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Posted: Sun Feb 25, 2007 7:04 pm
Everything
I hate it when my muse doesn't play nicely. This is about feeling so inspired, and being nearly powerless to do anything about it. It's meant to be so disjointed.
i need to write-- to speak-- to sing, to cry, to scream, to laugh, to do something--
i'm so full it hurts
i need an outlet, something, anything, everything to leech it from me
(bleed the poison from the wound of my heart, the pressure from the swelling of my mind)
i contain the entire universe in an instant,
and it is connected
(and beautifully, so beautifully, blinding in its intricate strands),
but how?--
welling up inside me, bleeding out from under my skin, rolling off me in rivulets of--
what?
what is it?
it's meaning, it's life, it's love, it's the answer
it's there and not, just barely at the edges of my mind
fumbling blindly, grasping wildly, lurching tentatively,
sneak up on it from the side or it will be lost forever, forever
but hurry-- it might
it gathers mass inside my chest,
more and more with every passing heartbeat,
heavier with every slow breath--
i won't explode, i'll implode, simply fold in on myself infinitely
hurry--
i'll become a black hole, not a supernova
this is the sort of thing that deserves no explosion,
no brilliant radiance,
no fleeting blaze of glory
it might be lost--
you will not be able to look directly at me,
but not for the same reasons;
quiet, unnoticed,
your eyes will slide over me
impossible to see, to touch
(without being ensnared yourself)
i need--
you--
but even as i formulate this,
the meaning slips from my mind--
it's not what i had meant,
it's never what i mean--
why don't--
why can't--
i deflate
the dam has burst--
and what did it?--
(no rain of concrete,
no awe-inspiring force)
an anticlimactic crack,
though now the slow seeping of it all
is too far gone to ever be staunched
thousands of words in this language,
and they're all stupid--
i'm different, changed--
the mark made,
even though i can tell only by tracing the ragged, frictionless edges
of this new negative space inside me
(you can only sense its presence by falling through)
it's useless
it's worthless, futile, impossible
i'd mourn its loss,
the loss of its possibility,
the loss of everything,
but--
did i fall?
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Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2007 9:24 pm
I can tell that you are a true writer. Your poems are really long and drawn out. Yet still captivate. Well done.
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Posted: Mon Mar 19, 2007 6:21 am
whee thanks so much for the compliment.
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