Nostalgia

Nostalgia contemplates

eyes ears mouth skin

reminisces

   sights sounds tastes touches

while static screen organs sit 

idle

aching like shallow water

and feeling without Feeling.




[Listening to "Look into the Air" by Explosions in the Sky]

Untitled

I see morning in your eyes, in the afternoon.
I see how rays bend around you,
        caught in your quiet
and I, too, am drawn in.

When light fades, I still feel your outlines
etched upon my skin, patterned with
         speckles of oncoming rain,
shaded by the final breath of dying light.

So break me open in the downpour,
        but fast--
before lines blur and all becomes soft,
        organic.

Before I fall away, drifting past
with the tired streams
        that trickle into
storm drains.



[Listening to "I'll Believe in Anything" by Wolf Parade]

Diffusion

Some nights I wonder
whether the thoughts that slip through my mind
might also find their way across the path and into
        yours,
Rustling through night-damp grasses,
pressing themselves into pores of brick and mortar,
curling quietly into the dark spaces of
        your resting mind
Silently infusing your subconscious
with the same restless energy
that you leave humming in my nerves
       with each touch of your fingertips
       against mine.
      

       

[Listening to "Your Hand in Mine" by Explosions in the Sky]

Corporeal

You told me that you used to have longer hair
and that you could always tell
          when I was thinking too hard about something
          just from the movements
                    of my fingers.

I told you that I used to have lighter skin
and that I could always tell
         when the sound of the sea was making you restless
         just from the rise and fall
                    of your chest.

You felt the curve of my spine and
         understood my silences;
I wrapped my arms around your voice
         and could finally fall
                                    asleep.

For you, five months had passed
and for me, a lifetime —

          I knew that you knew
          (just from the bend of my elbows)

                    but you never said
                    a word.



[Listening to "Wide Eyes" by Local Natives]

Sometimes

Sometimes I think of you when lying in beds
         or walking on streets
         or sitting in chairs

Not because we were together in these places
         but because we
                  never were.

Other times I think of you when writing on paper
         or holding pens
         or punctuating sentences

Because once, you found me scrawling in a notebook
         and thought I must be writing
                  about
                           you.



[Listening to "Infinity" by The xx]

Untitled

There was lightning over Panama
on the night I came to you –
          lips held whispers against teeth
          in the brief flashes of light.

We circled around you, me and the others,
chanting your name, reaching out arms –
          you concealed yourself in the
          fog of the night, ashamed.

When I found you at daybreak,
exposed beneath thin sunlight,
          you had dust in your eyes
          and insects buzzing in your hair.

But I could see your bones
through the holes in your clothing,
          and they were so beautiful
          I thought my heart
          would break.

Youth

Youth is
         not mouths, words.

Youth is
         eyes
               searching through spaces between clouds
         connecting to brain
               wondering at cool raindrop eruptions on skin
         connecting to spine
               curving into damp backyard softness
         connecting to legs arms muscles fibers
               itching to run move breathe sweat
         before
               every bone joint hollow space

                           fills with the ticking of
                           pale-faced clocks

         and
                  rigid hands drag, unforgiving
                      toward

                           cold perspiration
                           on treadmill machines.