Laying on the hardwood floor, footsteps are heartbeats.
My ear to the great chest of the apartment - the world -
whose heart murmurs and falls out of rhythm. (1)
I can still feel the wild illustrations he drew in my goosing flesh,
his fingertips that needle a soft, impermanent tattoo.
The night found deep green in his face. Now everywhere, the mellow blue
of morning. Everywhere, the plump toes of sleeping boys.
His body behind the curtain is a floating ghost.
I found in his chest a thickness, in his hair a soft grease.
I found on his neck poetry, I found beneath his earlobe
a small stone, attention to sensation, sensitivity to touch.
"This is a new language" - I want to say, and can't. (2)
The only way to feel human
in a dehumanizing world
is to touch.
(1) A doctor might ask the globe whether its gravity is in order.
(2) "I am certain I speak a new language, as is always the sign of a new age." - Saul Williams
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4 comments:
this is beautiful...
Why not utilize foot notes in this poem? Many people overlook the fact that poems can have footnotes and quotation, which you have obviously not, however, I think this poem would benefit greatly by employing one or more foot notes (specifically, the Saul Williams quote would have been best annotated and.
Without the "and.")
VERY good use of footnotes.
A teacher of mine (Nzadi Keita) once told me that sometimes you can preface poetry, sometimes you can use footnotes, sometimes poetry requires research. Sometimes poetry can be completely asemic (my favorite) or completely esoteric. "Be not afraid of art (unless it's out to kill you)."
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