In a Belly of Whalebones (Where the Trees Were Never Sorry Enough)

I’m having nightmares again--
I painted my face gold,
it didn’t help.
I told the trees to stop apologizing,

It didn’t help.
I pretended I could melt the lightning,
it didn’t help.
I told you that it didn’t help,
it didn’t help.

Poetry was our river
that we called home,
Poetry was our river 

that we
lifted one another 

to float within
Poetry
was
our
river,
but we were both swimming upstream,
I reached for your hand,
but was swallowed by rocks.
I reached for your hand,
it didn’t help.

I felt most at home,
in a belly of whalebones;
encaged like a heart,
contained like a poem:
I didn’t want to exist beyond the page,
I wanted to be forgotten
like the flick of a wrist.
I wanted to be forgotten,
it didn’t help.

I’m having nightmares again,
and you’re not in them.
I shake you awake at 3 AM,
because I wish they were with you.

There is no whiskey in heaven, Charles Bernstein,
but there aren’t angels either.
There is no whiskey in heaven,
but there is whiskey on Earth,
and there is hell 

on Earth,
so Charles Bernstein,
you must’ve been in hell!

I’m having nightmares again,
and in them, I am in hell,
and swimming upstream.
I’m having nightmares again,
but I am waking in love with you.
And the trees were sorry
that they couldn’t be like you,
and I was sorry
that I was too much
like you,
and you weren’t sorry,
that Charles Bernstein and I were in hell.

I hid in the ribcages of whales
until I could be better,
I hid in the ribcages of whales,
until I could be original,
I hid in the ribcages of whales,
until your heart was like the lightning.
I fed myself to the rocks,
it didn’t help.

Poetry was our river,
and we found
one another
under water,
our arms full of water--
we found one another
composed
of water,
our eyes full of water.
We boiled and froze in the same plexiglass breath,
as we forgot how to forget,
like the death of a stranger.

I’m having nightmares again--
I painted your heart gold,
it didn’t help.
I told the trees they were an embarrassment,
it didn’t help.
I melted glaciers that felt like lightning strikes,
it didn’t help.

There was no whiskey in heaven,
but there was heaven in whiskey,
and there were no angels in heaven,
but there was heaven in whalebones,
and there were angels in poetry.
I swam upstream
to meet you
You swam upstream
to purge me from the rocks,
and I am waking in love with you,
feeling at home,
within your whalebones,
within your heart
full of water.
I am waking in love with you:
our frailties like autumn,
our affinity like lightning,
and both of us
painted gold.

Author's Note

unfinished, senseless, rant