this faint spirit

a love poem

 

 

 

This faint spirit of

my universe is a simple one,

where I can check the speed of orbits

but not postpone them. I am so good

at cutting, dying and storing, passing out

of existence after passing out.

 

You object? My failure to adjust my desires

to the conditions of one's life. And being

satisfied is the Christian way for the cosmos,

just as mystery is a demon's way of fortune.

It's unlikely, at this late stage, that there

will be changes.

 

I can uncover the delicate plants from the cold night

but I can't talk through polka dots. Let alone see

thru what you call self control. Heartbreak  implies a loss

of fortitude, depriving of charactetistic force by removing

something essential.

 

But saying love in a twisting light year is not weakness.

And I won't dare undo your orbital coherence

just to be the devil, or

let die the unlikely for the

falsity of landscapes. Because

 

most of my joys now are suspended in air

like caring or elysium fields and after having

survived you,

on being comfy in the knowing of being unlicked

i am calm to both

 

cross pollination and decay,

Jesus and a good cry. You're not a prisoner.

Although I kept bugs in jars until my 19th birthday

only to release them from my paternal

care with that hoodoo ellipse in winter

with no warm landing place.

 

I still can't dance a lick. And even if you do

return home, I will continue to wash both my

colors and whites together. Because emancipation

has a gray tinge and why does bleeding matter

if you don't completely bleed out?

 

And it is incredible and fantastic,

indisputable, emotional restlessness.

And you mentioned to your mother that

being a poet is insubstantial,

visionary, irrational madness.

 

I thank you again.

I work hard as hell at this

sweet unnilhexium.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

dana, I have no idea why your words are not gracing our nation's top literary publications. A failure to adjust one's desires to the conditions of one's life? Don't we normally call that, stubborn audacity? and didn't it get a Black man elected President of the US once or twice?

insubstantial my a*s. Here are two words of advice on things that I learned/ am learning the hard way: 1. don't fall in love with somone who cannot/ will not take the time to read and understand your poetry, because you probably will not communicate well on other levels, either. 2. never, under any circumstances go to bed with someone who cannot kiss worth a damn. If they cannot meet you halfway there, they will not anywhere else, either. It is like with poetry. There is communication and there is communication, and there is that nagging desire that someone come in to read our words AND hold us close at the heart AND let slide some of our small imperfections, like washing lights and darks together. and you know what? There is nothing audacious about demanding that alineation of celestial factors in one human body. Shout it fromt he rooftops and just be your mad self. Those who love you will forgive you anyway. You'll know soon enough who they are.

Excellent, sir, as always.

[Corset]

Marie, I loved this review :) especially #2, hell to the yes on number 2! (that sounded strange, lol)

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

The cape of good hope...the portal to eternity..where devils bend at the knees and honey flows free for the bees...
when madness ends at the bottom of a cesspool and a lady falls for the charms of a dim-witted fool..
what has been begotten is...
never to be forgotten
always to be cherished

when land ends

[DCT ponderings]

Dearest namesake,

I hope to walk in the traces of how well you write.

This is one of my favorites.

[writing mojo]

so this is what it feels like to be the ash in offering, the presence of sacrifice and praise, a Mandela of carbon dating left in awe of being one with the sky...you are amazing

[Corset]

"dana, I have no idea why your words are not gracing our nation's top literary publications." Marie Anzalone

I've been wondering that same thing myself for sometime now Marie! How did we get so lucky and what if he should take himself down the big road to poetic success would you forget us little guys here in the WC pining away for you our Dana? Would you still bring us "poet is insubstantial, visionary, irrational madness?"