All The Words: January 2013
February 2, 2013 § 1 Comment
Love: always disproportionate
Death: three lines, three photographs, a hundred days, a lot of numbers.
Promises: Promised not to give any lately?
Death: likes numbers.
Love: can have a body or no body, and sometimes nobody.
Loss: the one gone won’t be there, and you fear that you’ve never been there for the one gone.
Snow: without class consciousness; egalitarian beauty maker.
Tenderness: to apply onto the deeper skin after we’ve peeled off our first; still pink and all thin and diaphanous.
Tension: holding back movement.
Age: too much life and not enough of it.
Death: after time.
Sleep: no time.
Sex: extra time.
Appreciation: true time.
Communication: direct, please.
Inspiration: that tab dripping in the middle of the night; you just want to shut it off but find yourself writing on the kitchen table.
Memories: equally adored and feared for being our future.
Experience: The fourth cheap cocktail glass.
Time: more, less, enough, never, always, again, gone.
Soul: What we leave behind at places for others to find when wandering alone. Sometimes we find it ourselves again too. And so on.
Friend: the one in the end.
Mensch: fits in one body.
Pain: what’s cheap to share and hard to wipe away.
Music: the red string connecting everything; Ariadne’s thread, Prometheus’ fire, our common mother’s womb.
Forgiveness: Remember the boy next door who threw your first bicycle into the village stream? He was in love with you all along.
Home: a picture of movement; us moving towards an embrace.
Dance: bodies translating.
Language: leaving the shore behind, going back into water.
Sleep: the invisible door to an empty room. We put down our luggage, next to the stairs. Upstairs, there are people talking.
Memory: has no bones and therefore can be formed with words into various shapes, then wrapped around a heart to kill or save.
Distance: invisible substance.
Absence: substantial distance.
Fate: the game we play.
Recognition: hands touching the white marble, following the beat from inside, and shaping that figure.
Solitude: a myth of your inner voice.
Verse: pure thought ready to dance.
Poetry: pure thought caught out of guard.
Inspiration: a prayer, or a choir, or a dive.
Light: the idea of a tomorrow.
Home: this now.
You: the mirror I painted on your face.
Ambition: when everything faded away, except for this hope which kept you alive.
Sex: it’s all of you, without excuse.
Love: no matter what.
Despair: a moment like an implosion, when breath becomes solid like a stone, and then is thrown into the deepest well.