posted to the district of columbia july 15th 2010
licit (helix/loc)
then when i dropped my head in your hands and forgot myself
should i have given my forehead to your hips instead, jagged with relief?
in literature, that substitution, the one event tacitly replacing the illicit other, it’s called something. i am lacking a more complex vocabulary when it comes to naming metaphor.
words don’t capture your complexion,
neither the composit of your gaze,
and these, after all, lack materiality and its reciprocal assignation of longing.
so why not later, later on, far from here, out past any hint of my existence, disruption, or inconvenience ... listen in the dark alone some night to at loose ends by herbert brün, and weep.
name me this. yoko ono, thin ice
sincerely, and in answer to your question, i wrote poetry, impoverished as it was.