Poem One Of Thirty

Lots of people (I am made to understand) are writing one poem a day (at least) every day for the month of April. These are posted unedited in their first draft.


4/1/09

There might be more, but if there is
we never seem to find it.
More quarters can lead to more games, more sips of sweet,
more candy, more voices across metal wires.
She told me to submit but I think she was
just asking me to use more punctuation--
like many before her, she believed that she would like me better with
more shape, that conducting me would be like
conducting a woodwind section and not like electricity.
But I keep those urges to myself,
the ones that tempt me to tell the naked people next to me
what their skin makes me feel, what I think, what wants bring
me. I don't tell people what words rattle loudest.
Never. I don't know who does or if anyone does

what I imagine is the best thing
but I like layers of meaning inside layers of meaning which
is more to say
that I like the trickery of honesty. I like
the way it worms. How you can use
truth like glass to bend light,

with the right true words you can make
anything a more convenient size.
Perspective is a tasty weapon.
You can hold true in front of bigger true and hide it.
You can wrap it around
things that are tiny and make them
big enough to hold, to raise, to throw.

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