i never write people’s names in my poems.
this way i can recycle old bodies
stacking you up against
endless metaphors of others.
this way i can remember new bodies
re-written over lines i have already read
lines i have already read.
(and i wait here
just beneath
that which
holds you open:
like sheets of paper
laid out across your stomach,
like palms).
this way i can keep my days calm
and separate
between the borders of these
little white pages
surprising myself
with the way every letter every word
every letter every word
somehow appear the same.
well, you know how i feel. i have tried over beers and fags to force it out of you. nosy nosy ness wants to know the names! but i am accepting of your abstract subtley – i respect it and am insanely jealous because i lack it. love this one; hope this one loves it. love, ness. (too much love i think)
ahh, ness
what’s in a name, anyway?
some call it subtlety, some call it evasiveness. anyway, there is never too much love.
love jes
ha ha, i know who it is.