Returning into Time
I remember the olfactory,
oh how we work to remember
all our labor, all the work
we had to do to remain sensitive,
desensitized to sensitivity,
emasculated, attentive to nothing
but ourselves and maybe now and then
a few masters, of war, of love
or nature, exaggerating herself
insecure as we exploit the moonlight
or our reaction to its half-assed shadow
recording the time it takes a leaf to fall
or a season to become redundant.
I remember all the people I have condemned
in my own glorious halo of judgmental light,
I remember all the fights I have fought
especially those I have lost,
the cost of winning, a debt I still owe.
Awarded accolade by default, I hide behind my trophies
inexplicably conscious of my regret,
my mistakes, egrets in the distant elbow of the bay
slain straw sleeves scraping across the pavement like ghosts.
I remember what I saw, the sawdust
under the broom nobody cared to clean
I remember the cranberries
thrown against my grandmothers white garage
like dissident agorists ripped from the tree of liberty
the narcissistic birds twittering in the bird bath
us boys slithering between the houses
tossing bombs as boys will do.
I remember my son, when he was a preconception
not somebody’s mistake, not the nape
of some adulterous affair
I remember the way love circumnavigates
an indifferent mouth and makes it decide
on a joyful or painful curvature
sliding parabolas, asymptotic -
symptomatic to our own sporadic attempts
to understand the math of subtraction,
addition, the supposition of equality
greater than or equal too, lesser than my previous selves
deriving nothing but this diffusion, this permeated cry.
I remember the sky before it was marked by Tesla
as the next great battlefield of nations,
I remember life before it was rationed,
stationed overseas, bought and paid for politically,
prodded by analysts, mimicked in the mainstream.
I remember when the stream swept past you
and it was okay to jump in.
I remember being man enough
to cry when someone died
the guy in his jeans the color of old semen
South Korean seamen drowning
to stoke a geopolitical fire.
I remember being fired from a job
because I was too serious about my work
I remember circling around an answer
Before I forgot what I really wanted to say.
I remember the day my silence
meant saying something as clear as day
the way the sun rises without a peep
our minds asleep in dreams.
oh how we work to remember
all our labor, all the work
we had to do to remain sensitive,
desensitized to sensitivity,
emasculated, attentive to nothing
but ourselves and maybe now and then
a few masters, of war, of love
or nature, exaggerating herself
insecure as we exploit the moonlight
or our reaction to its half-assed shadow
recording the time it takes a leaf to fall
or a season to become redundant.
I remember all the people I have condemned
in my own glorious halo of judgmental light,
I remember all the fights I have fought
especially those I have lost,
the cost of winning, a debt I still owe.
Awarded accolade by default, I hide behind my trophies
inexplicably conscious of my regret,
my mistakes, egrets in the distant elbow of the bay
slain straw sleeves scraping across the pavement like ghosts.
I remember what I saw, the sawdust
under the broom nobody cared to clean
I remember the cranberries
thrown against my grandmothers white garage
like dissident agorists ripped from the tree of liberty
the narcissistic birds twittering in the bird bath
us boys slithering between the houses
tossing bombs as boys will do.
I remember my son, when he was a preconception
not somebody’s mistake, not the nape
of some adulterous affair
I remember the way love circumnavigates
an indifferent mouth and makes it decide
on a joyful or painful curvature
sliding parabolas, asymptotic -
symptomatic to our own sporadic attempts
to understand the math of subtraction,
addition, the supposition of equality
greater than or equal too, lesser than my previous selves
deriving nothing but this diffusion, this permeated cry.
I remember the sky before it was marked by Tesla
as the next great battlefield of nations,
I remember life before it was rationed,
stationed overseas, bought and paid for politically,
prodded by analysts, mimicked in the mainstream.
I remember when the stream swept past you
and it was okay to jump in.
I remember being man enough
to cry when someone died
the guy in his jeans the color of old semen
South Korean seamen drowning
to stoke a geopolitical fire.
I remember being fired from a job
because I was too serious about my work
I remember circling around an answer
Before I forgot what I really wanted to say.
I remember the day my silence
meant saying something as clear as day
the way the sun rises without a peep
our minds asleep in dreams.