Take my hand, let's plunge
into woods, dart between pines
like fairy-tale riffraff
sprung from a cage
Something is lurking,
Something sees
Is that why the rocks are so rigid and straight?
Why else should we stick
like words to our page?
What if, instead, you let go
of my hand
and pushed me, ungently,
into a lake?
What if I laughed
instead of getting mad,
slime on my head
a fish up the leg?
Impossible to live
like orphans, you say,
but it's spring
and I'm drunk
and I want to
be nuts
The clock says I've lived
but half of this life
I want to get wet,
be charged with a quest,
kiss your hot neck—
storm the castle
make off with the lamb
4 comments:
I love the playfullness of this.
That's good to hear, Charles. Thanks.
the image i got from "pushed me, ungently" made me laugh. but i love the feeling of kicking open a door, breaking free - the thrill of jumping without knowing if it's a good idea or a bad one. i like that spring can blur that line sometimes.
Yeah, there's a kind of mania to spring that I was trying to capture here. Making the words a vehicle for that energy, if a flimsy one.
It's important to still allow yourself to feel that, I think. It might be the closest thing we have to some kind of fountain of youth.
Thanks. :)
Post a Comment