35Undated Train Ride Home
Ticking.
It’s ticking again.
Sliding metal on metal
slick and cold
shh click shh click
smooth under my fingertips
subtley grooved
friction like a tongue
over teeth…
2.13.12
I wanted to call you today. Even a text would have been ok. But really I wanted to hear your voice again. I didn’t know the last time we spoke was the last time we would ever speak. If I did call, if you called, I don’t know what I would say. Would I even recognise your voice?
I wrote this poem
on the way home
What do you think?
Smile
I want you to smile
to laugh
to sound in your chest
to breathe
Breathe me in
and sigh
I have known you
longer than myself
deeper than knowing
Take me in your arms
conjugate me
roll me out
like dough
spread me out
with your hands
on fire
flames jumping
through my insides
my flesh burning
a smell like wood
cut and fresh and clean
There are times I am so mad I can hardly think
So mad
Not angry upset offended offput slighted irate livid
So many words for this feeling that do not describe it
What I am not
I am mad, mad as a mixture, a concoction of confusion, hurt, and vulnerability, all lined with a hint of insanity.
Just a hint
and with a softer connotation.
Not the kind of insanity that drives one to act, just a sliver of something that means only that I feel irrational and am conscious of that irationality
I don’t know what to call that.
2 What is this
a light that breaks the clouds
orbs shifting
something turning
a tiny spring
cool and delicate
tripping, falling, sliding
changing the rocks
the earth
with a gentle stroke
1 the shattered shell
running yolk
viscous and pale
beating lisping calls
into silence
crackling cold and sleep
eyes turning
palming glances
And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
John Steinbeck (via moorehn)
(Source: moorehn)
http://
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy…
(via friendlyneighbourhoodblogger-de)
9 I thought about all of the things that everyone ever says to each other, and how everyone is going to die, whether its in a millisecond, or days, or months, or 76.5 years, if you were just born. Everything that’s born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they’re all on fire, and we’re all trapped.
Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
3
Well, to answer your question, I don’t think that’s a real word you used. Emotionalness. But I understand what you are trying to say, and yes. I end up crying a lot, usually in private…I’m not very good with people.” “What do you think is going on?” “I feel too much. That’s what’s going on.” “Do you think one can feel too much?” “I don’t know. I’m only me.” “Maybe that’s what a person’s personality is: the difference between the inside and the outside.” “But it’s worse for me.” “I wonder if everyone thinks it’s worse for him.” “Probably. But it really is worse for me.
Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
2
