lovers who are really geese: March 2011

swans

"Doesn't really matter, you know, what kind of nasty names people invent for the music. But, uh, folk music is just a word, you know, that I can't use anymore. What I'm talking about is traditional music, right, which is to say it's mathematical music, it's based on hexagons. But all these songs about, you know, roses growing out of people's brains and lovers who are really geese and swans are turning into angels - I mean, you know, they're not going to die. They're not folk music songs. They're political songs. They're already dead."

Jude, I'm Not There.

Illustration of goose from here.

Friday, March 11, 2011

you're so loud

your name is a siren

that brings violent coughs to my throat, when i'm twenty seconds away from you

and my skin screams, when your skin cells are my skin cells

and alarms i never snooze go off in my head, when a word – any word – slips from your lips

and the most rapturous knocking beats in my chest, when you're here

gunshots and bombs erupt in my head, when i'm enveloped in you(r cologne, and your fabric, and your body heat)

and yet

the silence sits ringing beside me, when you're asleep and as quiet as a dried-up ocean