before there were rooms
there was no Here or There
no spacial frame of referent
to section off all of the places
we could not go
ONE BIG SPACE!!! it is almost too much to consider
(consider it, though,
I am interested in space and words and words in space and the spatiality of words even though often it feels like the walls I draw beg me not to look at them
(shame, shame, shame for constituting structure)
a center was found, or created, or both
to be the first person in the first room must have been scary
(sometimes it is still scary to be in rooms, especially the ones we call bodies) <— (too much?)
I want to ask my dad if he’s ever kissed a man
usually, Touch is an Excess that fails to keep itself from flowing over
smoking while swimming makes (poetic) logical sense
nothing untouched by the
structure always undoing itself
Stepping out of narrative
floating beneath a bright and warm
(outside of the structure, this time)
And there is a reason we write about water when we write about love.
Nothing left untouched.
called my dad and he told me that everything important to say won’t ever stop being important and that i shouldn’t rush things. wait, he says. he says i know we are impatient assholes and we want the Good Feelings and we want them Now but sometimes the best thing to do is shut up and know that the really truly Good things?—they don’t happen or not happen because of anything you could do in an instant. so wait. wait it out even though we want the Good Feelings and we want them Now.
i ask my dad if he has ever read anne carson.
I do not trust cathedrals
too easy to look through clean windows and believe you are looking at sky
is it too much to write about touch
those three might be the same, i think
and even if they weren’t,
i am doing my best lately not to shy away from excess.