Poetry Arrived In Search Of Me
Y fue a esa edad...Llego la poesia a buscarme. -Pablo Neruda

It Takes a While to Disappear

Wednesday, March 22, 2006
You are the Place You Cannot Move

You wake up healthy

but you don't feel right. Now everything's
backwards and you're thinking of someone to blame.

And you do, you're lucky,
drinking coffee was easy, the traffic's
moving along, you're like
everyone else just trying to get through the day
and the place you're dreaming of seems possible—
somewhere to get to.

All you really know
is that it hurts here, the way feelings
are bigger than we are, and a woman's face
in a third-story window, her limp hair
and the pots of red geraniums luring you
into her suffering until you're walking on roads
inscribed in your own body. The maps
you never speak of. Intersections, train stations,
roadside benches, the names of places and
people you've known all bearing the weight
of cashing a check or your having to eat something,
of glimpsing the newspaper's ghoulish headlines.

Like everyone else, you think,
the struggle is toward a better time, though
no pressure surrounds the house you were born in.
Cool, quieter, a vast primitive light
where nothing happens but the sound
of your sole self breathing.
And you've decisions to make. Isn't that why
you've come? with a bald-headed man at the bar
and your friends all over the place, anxious,
tired, a little less sturdy than you'd hoped for
and needing someone to kick around, someone to love.

-Ralph Angel

Just found Mr. Angel recently, and I kinda want to be his someone to kick around. But I'll settle for just reading everything of his that I can my get my grubby little paws on. Yay, I say. Yayness squared.

4:27 PM :: ::
  • hold the fuck on.

    how does this ralph character know that i want to kick around a bald man in a bar?

    By Blogger somegirl, at 11:29 AM  
  • i don't think joe would like to hear that.

    By Blogger herpen8, at 3:26 PM  
  • Nice poem, I'll keep an eye out for your angel.

    I've been looking for some Earl of Rochester to stick on my blog, what do you think of this?

    But we, poor slaves to hope and fear,
    Are never of our joys secure;
    They lessen as they draw near,
    And none but dull delights endure.

    Judas Penrose
    Poetry Politics and Piracy

    By Blogger Judas, at 12:19 PM  
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