interspace (october, 2011)

her body tenses.
hold that moment
clear in the golden light
of floorlit beer and memory
and there's music

it's not so poetic as it appears
this isn't a case
of singing spines, rib rhythms
and the tempo of her heart
no
just a song

piece those stitches together
and it's something
about memory and forgetting
time, sadness
and perhaps continuation

claim all those thoughts
as your own
out of the lamplazy windingdown
dripsplattered table times
with their coffeestain thoughts
on old folded napkins
sealed with lipstick smudges
and the remains of the last sip
—the one that near spilled in reaction
to a voice or a look
but solidified
as the drip down the side
to be caught instead
in serviette seconds
at a dimly lit bar—
take it from them
to your booktrodden walkways
and secret altars of failure and fame.
keep it.

she'll remember you
as a quiet and distracted lover
and she'd be right
unless she could hear time sing