indexcard

elliot, cummings and pynchon
my poetic forefathers
their legacy
an unbridgeable gap between my emotion and language
but still a desire
like icarus
to describe
one green night

it was the buzz and snap of the alcohol
the glass, it's natural pairing,so ridiculous
foreshadowing perhaps
the hunt is on
i wished
my head fogged by the ether, the wish would pass
i hoped
experience and age noting no special cues
racing
a myriad of syllogisms, vows, and codes
half truths
my mind shifting like the desert sand
reshaping itself into consistency
to gain control, preserve thirty years of identity

it was that green night
the low suck of the air conditioner
an awkward pause
your bare leg
at first so common
almost vulgar
then the rush
poetic
painful
beautiful
the precipice of creation, primal
without history, without future
one single stinging instant
a tear fell

one green night
every impulse for self destruction swelled
with the next crest rose sincere appreciation for the absurd
a detached sense of self
then a green calm


msc, i.e., me