one thousand and one arabian nights
Scheherazade
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget they are horses.
It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.
Look at the light throught th ewindow pane. That means it's noon, that means we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me how we'll never get used to it.
-Richard Siken
This is, in my humble opinion, his best poem, and also a good poem. Jeez, Signe, Richard Siken? The next think you know I'll be telling you that I do, in fact, like Andy Warhol.
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget they are horses.
It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.
Look at the light throught th ewindow pane. That means it's noon, that means we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me how we'll never get used to it.
-Richard Siken
This is, in my humble opinion, his best poem, and also a good poem. Jeez, Signe, Richard Siken? The next think you know I'll be telling you that I do, in fact, like Andy Warhol.