| 03/19/09 10:47 PM |
#2055
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Troy Davis
look out...i'm writing poems and TRYING hard to woo women...: )
ambivalence
it is that moment when you stop at the teapot
and wonder if it will whine or sing.
you stir your coffee and wonder if the milk
and the black will fight for your life
or stop in that always compromise of brown.
it was that time when you laughed at the sighs
and the signs.
(yes, i still tremble, stumble and stutter
and talk too much
when the world should stop spinning
just for me).
i've shouted for joy
and i've heard the sound bounce around
blackness and a smiling face.
i've touched and been stung
by both.
i can tell we've moved into the place
where prosper, jobs and lace
replace
pianos, fire, smoke, sun and seeds.
it is that moment when the whisper sounds
of washing clothes
will make us all clean
or just good enough.
i've been there.
the grapes on the lips
ready to fall before they burst in the mouth.
or the hand too close to the breast
when all you want is order
or something just a bit smaller.
i can tell you stare at other things,
look for more than my crooked glasses
show me. try to round the edges
of my stops with your gos,
want to fit all of me in a story of boxes and pledges.
please look at me, the ribs and the skin,
the doubts, the bones and the shins.
these are the shapes of crashes and roses.
i will always stand when i should sit,
i will always call you at the last minute
with the world in my hand,
a running and bending
ATM story of when it all happened.
with me, you get the full rush of saints,
the blush, and the graffiti artist's coda of paints.
come to me, deep and awkward,
i'll take you as you are,
and, dear, i will always stop at your go,
but as the candle flickers and fades,
in those dramatic shadows,
the tortured
pillows and sheets,
the world will always spin,
with your chin,
and lean closer to song.
troy davis, 2009
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