Blythe and I wrote a poem for Dave last night as part of this whole poem-letter-exchange thing he cooked up a couple of weeks ago.

The poem played out over at The Poetry Collaborative in the wee hours. I’ve decided to share it here as well, since part two of my rant about SadHose is still in the making. And since it looks I will be preoccupied most of the day today working on a quiz that I will ultimately administer to my closest friends and whose purpose is to tease out whatever the fuck* it is about me that, minute by minute, seems to rub everyone the wrong way, like some shitfaced guy at a bar trying to dryhump your leg when all you want to do is dance, baby.

I slapped a quickie title on this piece, since I just realized we didn’t have one. The title is just a glop-o-words. A placeholder, really. But isn’t all language merely a placeholder?

*Thank you, new site host, for allowing me the freedom to say fuck when I wanna. Cause I wanna with some frequency.
* * *

Another Night Wherein I Confuse Myself with Natural Phenomena

Dear Dave,

Last night the moon asserted its hold over
my windows and drapery panels, lighting
and backlighting my gauzy hesitancies.

I stepped into the deliberate and sequential
order of movements without my dressing gown.
Uncased, I tried to revolve around my memory,

twisting it to fit the timeworn crucible
of reason. I was interrupted by my arms,
which rose like sadness in the dark,

a pair of lost loons skimming the bare walls
for the texture of woven bark and twig.
Without opening my eyes, I sensed I had

rain rolling down my torso. I inhaled
the air’s disparate molecules, a blanket
of lake mist and pine scent distilled.

Miles from here, you wondered about
the sound of memory, if it clinks like ice
when shaken or if it pours like a liquid over

the more tangible parts of life, filling and
conforming as needed. You felt a mild
elation the last time I moved over you with

my varying and unpredictable rainfall,
but I wasn’t quite enough to relieve
the drought or wash away debris.