—the times I slept alone, dreaming my slack body over you, your winged shoulders spread, your back carried the weight of my body— the heavy weight of the horizon. My trembling hands translated your form into a winged Assyrian bull, a support of my desire, as a figure of myth, circling, or a broken recording: Beethoven’s sonata number fourteen, opus twenty-seven in an endless loop, coursing through the blood, in […]
Some mornings, after an hour’s run, after a slight shower, I reconsider my body, still damp with steam in the bathroom mirror, glowing with a persistent light. The skin gains a halo, a quality that almost seems religious, as a self-portrait by Schiele, reds and greens accenting the lines of the form, a figure framed in self reflection, in the blur of early hours, when time becomes an old man […]
I cannot justify my wanting you still, even to myself, even on days like this, when I wander, lost in a haze of past lives. Was it nineteen o’ two or in nineteen twenty when we first met seven years before my grandmother’s birth? Under remote bridges you hesitantly let me kiss you, a calculated risk worth chancing among the needles, used condoms but no, that was nineteen […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 