Russian gossip

We ignore the narrator by only focusing on the frame.

Hulleah J. Tsinhnahjinnie, “The Promises Were So Sweet,” digital print on poly satin, 2010, Great Plains Art Museum Permanent Collection.
Hulleah J. Tsinhnahjinnie, “The Promises Were So Sweet,” digital print on poly satin, 2010, Great Plains Art Museum Permanent Collection.

The city moves, bends, and swallows.
An act of congress, a coming together.
He presented himself to me. I kissed, gently,
his upper thigh. Curated outfits, a collection of pants
and blouses, roll past me. Lunches bounce inside bags.
I keep writing to feel around the noise. Reinvested
memories, commitments, and occasional flashes of violence.
Internalized scandals are my own reputation to manage.

The train was crowded. No one could complain
about unwanted touching. I imagined her hand
moving slowly, without detection, up and between
my legs. Her fingers, warm and steady, found
their destination. Leaving behind permanent
invisible notes, secrets scrawled on the inside.
Messages shared as rumors as indisputable
associations like light shining through solid objects.

l’appel du vide

If there is something to desire,
there will be something to regret.
If there is something to regret,
there will be something to recall.
If there is something to recall,
there was nothing to regret.
If there was nothing to regret,
there was nothing to desire.
–Vera Pavlova

Erie Street 12.31.13
Erie Street 12.31.13 (photo by Atlee)

What we carry
is a result
of not knowing
what the day will bring.

_________

As her legs lifted
and separated
to step up
onto the sidewalk,
he took a deep bite
into a pastry
ashamed
as if he had taken
what was not his.

_____________

you can’t take it with you when you go

I’ve been thinking a lot about: ceremonies, Indian summer, peachy light, witnessing, forgiveness.

I came to hold your effort and left realizing you had none to give. I shouldn’t have been surprised and for that reason I cannot continue to hold these lingering regrets.

Draped flesh, buried sadness, and apparitions of familiarity are now a loop closed. It’s evidence that even circles have sharp edges.

battling repression

If I’m honest, I would admit that when the clouds formed ellipses in the sherbet pink sky, I formed a memory of you. Instead, I fill this omission with my own elucidation.

artist: Yangyang Pan, “Sunset”

It’s Sunday, feelings of obfuscation and loss eclipse me.