lust poem no.31

bedroom scene no.3

there is the air
poured
from stale radiator to pool
over bare skin
and open sill.

there is the lament
of a passing train
this side the river. there
is firewood stacked
beside the door, but no

goddamn snow.
it weighs like the hesitation
in her eyes that he
can’t see: that she
is tired of sad poems,

their puckered footsteps like
icefall on the second day
of spring. all ragged clouds
& slush & cold
metaphor. her skin

is forgetful. his hands
are on the small of her.
they weigh like silence,
like stone, like
remembering, brim

with words left
over which long
for un-houred mondays, for
un-hung evers, un-strung lives,
for words which long.

25 thoughts on “lust poem no.31

  1. Mija (a term of affection in espanol), You’ve got to find some way to skip over these damned Mondays. They show up so often with sad, drawn-out faces, and memories floating likes ghosts without a home. I often tell people that I wish I had a time machine so I could back and undo whatever brought me to my present problem, but in this case, I’d lend my time machine to you to skip ahead to a day where this is all just a wistful memory, a knowing chuckle to the self, a wry punchline. There is so much more ahead for you than there is behind you. You write about love gone wrong so well, but I think as an artist, you must stretch yourself, challenge yourself and look for gentle joyfulness, peaceful contentment and the occasional flesh-on-flesh communion that will bring an involuntary smile, against the canvas of a loving and comforting embrace. Make no mistake, this is not criticism of your writing (of which I am an unabashed devotee), but rather a plea, a wish for the magic of spring, the promise of everything anew, to sneak into your heart and send the darkness away, for a while.

    “she
    is tired of sad poems,

    their puckered footsteps like
    icefall on the second day
    of spring.”

    Loved this, your pal, Pop-o Moskowitz

  2. it weighs like the hesitation
    in her eyes that he
    can’t see….dang, that is where you jerked the hook and reeled me in….nice….and after that it is like stacatto bursts…like the play with like…and then the un-s…whole lot of feeling in this one as well joanna…like…want to hear it…

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