Alone in bed
Or half the way to Babylon?
Tonight it’s hard to tell.
My chest rises and falls,
My body whole, all tendon, meat and bone,
You could know this,
You could know it all
And you wouldn’t know a thing.
For even if you were intimate
With the animal my blood feeds
You can’t see behind these eyelids
So how could you possibly know
That somewhere in this constellation
I call myself
A sore opens like jasmine in the night
And unbeknownst to anyone,
Least of all to me,
Gives birth to these, my secret images,
And gets a rise out of places
Most of you will never see.
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1 comment:
This is amazing PJ, you are my literary hero. Your poems are more familiar to me than you probably think. But I suppose that's a reason for writing-- connecting with someone, even without knowing it yourself. Keep writing and I'll keep reading old friend.
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