Words

I wrote this a LONG time ago. It is definitely not one of my best poems and I see parts about it that make me cringe now, but it’s important as kind of the prequel to my more recent poem, Aphasiadisia. Basically they are two variations of the same theme… but the mood of this poem is pretty zen and complacent, and the mood of Aphasiadisia now is, well… NOT. Still, both poems have their place of truth for me and I feel this belongs with the new one as a first incarnation, and showing how the creative process involves revisiting themes years apart… something I do a lot. 

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Take these words:
they’re all I have to give.
If I wait for their unfolding,
I’m lost in the flood of quicksilver,
motive drowning in fulfillment —
too much satiation, too much matter,
and my mouth falls dry —
but words satisfy quietly
a distance from object you can’t hold
or let go of —

so take these words —
we can survive on them for years,
dreaming in their shadows,
dancing on their bones,
sucking them like bright candies
on a long highway ride.
A harsh paradox:
The more I’m checked,
the sweeter my tongue tastes,
the softer words bloom

and from stark deserts of longing,
sometimes it rains —
and the dust effulges flowers.
Memory collects—its condensed nectar descends,
fertilizing my tired eyes
and my mouth finds words to speak again.
Don’t look for something better than this.
Words are the thread that carries us home.
When you are gone I miss you,
and yet I don’t.
Just keep talking to me.
Just keep talking to me.
Learn to live in the space of longing,
and to long for what you already have.
This is all that is real here,
the only thing that lasts.

© Psyche Marks 2001