a short reminder
by jim carroll
they've tricked you, these boundaries
the way each stares back to the next
hoping the change might occur
but the organ started up again
as the hand tightened the grip
on the knob of the door
the way you only guessed it should be
up until now the way a star
greets you so openly, you forgot
for a moment that it meant nothing after all
thought tonight it was all you had ever hoped
and you were right
because the people are all gathered
along the cliffs. . . hung like breath
their hearts are like the pets
of some terribly dreary penthouse
as clouds descend to protect their dreams
then the trees pointed off. . . over there
where the man stands hunched over the slope
who was he? and what did he want?
becoming a part of it? that same “it”?
only more useless now, intricate as a nipple,
though so easily realized even along
the busiest streets of daylight, the spirit
that leaves you tangled in some later hour
which is here
where the paintings drop to the floor in rows
because you do not care to think about them again
now that you have developed this power to forget about pain
innocent, of course, but hands shaking nonetheless
you sit down in a restaurant and a glass
breaks on the heel of your shoe. . . people turn. . .
outside the window a pathway of heat guided from star to tree
breathless at first. . . but where is the solution?
and why the tree so alike each of the others, so that
when space comes into the formula the only thing
you concede is that you're “in it”
guided by another like you
No comments:
Post a Comment