Wednesday, 31 October 2012

about sandy and the space between you and I

When we speak, we whisper in craacked hums
they bleed through our fingers in variations of
ones and zeros
and contradictions flow between them, edging out
the missed touch and memories of swollen eyes
that keep us together, close
close between the yellowing walls of my privileged entrapment
close between your painted yellow walls of forced independence
but we are close

she wailed to me, the other night.
As she tore through trampolines and phone wires
casting green branches to the ground for their arrogance
and still life
like a wolf she howled through the Caribbean
scattering the children of her tears with only a thought, an echo of her touch
and I heard her on my windows
calling me outside for another bummed cigarette
pieced together from fallen leaves and burned with fuel flown up
from the cholera'ed canals of forgotten countries

and we are close between the wind and rain
close between the boarders of mad kings swinging sticks like
broken bones,
guarded by whipped horses and blocked by a teeming pool of life
close between space

she was not angry, ever
just spreading her arms over us with fractal ease
following streamlines created by gaps in our logic
by one in the afternoon, she was just fingertips
tapping rapidly to get our attention, but too soft for me to notice

by three in the afternoon, she'd emptied great cities
and even I could not walk without exclaiming her progress

between you and her I sat
sending whispers of craaccckkkkked hummm
in ones and zeros, dodging the contradiction of
ones and zeros
there is only one
and zero is not

and between them is you and I, and we are close