SPEAK
Saturday, October 24, 2009
a gay poem.
tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
how it was late, and no one was awake, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
it's not like a tree where the roots have to end.
it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
look at the light through the windowpane. that means it's noon, that means
we're inconsolable.
these, our bodies, possessed by light.
tell me we'll never get used to it.
2:30 PM
