Photograph by NASA, digitized by Corbis Corporation © 1996
The Greatest View
No matter how many times astronauts have photographed Earth during two decades of space shuttle missions, the image in the rearview mirror has never become routine: that perfect blue marble, whorled with white, suspended against blackest space.
Pasted from < http://magma.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/space/wallpaper06.html>
See http://photojournal.jpl.nasa.gov/index.html for more.
and beneath these thoughts of failure, of
never being able to walk infront of you
without crawling at your sight, i pile
memories so tightly as to suffocate the
eyes, to swell the sinuses. in this pile
rests you and me, though only one will
ever really be.
behind the child’s smile rests the tongue
of a woman. above, her eyes hide in
marble a fire’s flame. that smile pulled me
to the stretch of frown and sadly i fell
back from her.. a needed pacing as she
stands so full above me.. and i
wonder/wait for her to breathe so i may
feel her breeze along these lips.
i love the mundane. the average,
everyday, routine greetings between us.
the “hii”, the “herro”. i love them more
because i know just about everyone
greets everyone the same. i don’t have
to fear you saying the same to
someone else, because i know you do. it’s
the personal, indepth conversations i can’t
stop being afraid of. if i tell her this; if
she sees me as this; if we share this
moment, will she share it with someone
else? will we be the marker for this
footnote in time, or will we be but casual
letters placed neatly in a row, to be
announced out as routinely as a rolecall
with a thousand more to go?
just another monologue
i parted the seas to see you;
broke down on the way,
hoped you’d wait, but
i guess time rolls on,
even for everyone;
tried to map the route from afar,
but nothing goes as planned;
the paper’s just a scribble
with no means of bringing
you closer to me.
if only we could purchase and discard
interchangeable hearts, i could speak
to you, throw out that old, broken
bone-pumper, replace it with a
brand-shiny-new, crimson ticker ’til
its time runs out; i’ll be standing
while you watch the remnants
of that rusty-bubbled spare part
spill over lips to be painted with the
blackest red– just hold on a second,
i’ll switch them and you won’t
have to worry about such a
catastrophe again..
until the new one bursts; i think
i may run out soon, i’m not too
satisfied with having only lived
to know your presence; i want
to know your radiance; i want
to rip from my chest this
interchangeable heart and place it
upon your doorstep, so when
you’re doing your dailies, you’ll
maybe stop for a second
to sweep the blood off your mat,
leaving streaks to show it was there
until the hose is turned on
to clear the concrete, the brick of
my gift to you– how
so sincere, let me unzip this torso
and replace this weakened soul
with another i know can’t stand
up to you; let me sit here,
i’ll splash away the red markings
with this bucket; let me sit here,
i’ll take my interchangeable heart,
discarded, with me on the way out.
and from another angle,
her brightest white
grows bare to soiled
bone, a match of
fur and structure
“But, it’s not fair. I.. I never had my chance. It’s not fair!”
“You’re right.”
“What can we do? How do I regain my chance?”
“You can’t.”
“Who am I, but a humble servant of the west-blown winds. How may I challenge the aristocracy of this town? By never buying but a penny’s worth of their goods, from me they’ve still made a killing. What smoothened texture the air holds when I reside in clouds face-leveled by their origin; perhaps all is as by day found to be, perfectly fine. What night brings more than what was left to bed when gone dreaming? None. None besides the night of storm, when deals of death lay struck or striking, or tense night of concept’s mass. What madness was I speaking hence?”
“You needn’t worry.”
“Ciao.”
how perfect.
picture’s purpose, driven,
drives through sight to
heart, a pitted mess rath’ broke
than breaking– cut off than
cutting– forth, through sight,
purpose drives, letting photo’ees
hold face just one more minute, ’til
draft dries, nev’ to be augmented.
listening to the cure
“just like heaven” (acoustic)
i followed steps from feet before me,
hoping nothing existed to hold my walk,
but the worst is always unseen, for
how can you know about invisibility–
i tasted you again in another tear,
trickled way from cheek to lip ‘fore shoe
