like a gun

i shouldn't be here
but the birds are loud & you're so, so pretty
i shouldn't be here but when you look at me like that everything falls.

it is more than a sigh, it's more than a question
this is a green eyed fire and it is always just about to rain.

your hands are what started this and your hands will be the end
it's knowing this that makes me suck the skin around my fingers
it makes me tap on things in quiet rooms
If only your eyes were beds with white blankets
and there wasn't so much time in between the time in between the time.

if anybody were to write a song about her, he said, there'd have to be trumpets.
there'd just have to be trumpets.
she closed her eyes slow-like in response
as if her eyelids wanted to fall, out a window maybe
as if they wanted to roll down hills in third grade.
they said,
what if the grass was the audience - what if this was a round of applause
what if this was digging and not some sentences i wrote out with my hands.
how music happens to you, they said.

but nothing really connects, not really.
the numbers fumble and space does not cooperate
i picture cellular fusions and a grasping
i asked you if the world was turning and you didn't say anything
you didn't even nod
my wrists tossed and turned and opened like lights
with maps we proceed but without maps we end, i said.
it's like static without the cling
i've always been.

nevertheless when we're right there i don't mind it that our eyes don't speak english
and i don't mind it that all feel is this buzz
i can remember if you remind me
i can try and get this down if only my body cools
but love is just like a gun - everyone knows that
and johnny cash said he shot a man in reno just to watch him die
so what does that tell us?

1 comment:

Jeff said...

Every damn line in this can practically stand on its own.