Legs that Open Like a Mouth

speak volumes. while you wait in the bed that has no sheets, a smart man explains why lightning strikes up. lighting, the smart man says, happens when the two things are so different that their energies can’t exist in the same space. or something like that. you try to listen. but while he talks, you imagine a cartoon in which bolts of yellow rise from the trees and the houses and the people and branch wild in the sky. you imagine lichtenberg figures tattooed on your very trunk, bone-white and eternal. while he talks, you imagine his mouth touches the curve of your ear follows the curve of your hip traces the long bone of your leg. what path would he take to get there? where does your energy begin and his end? why is there sometimes lightning like a dagger in the split of your chest? and why sometimes is there only the peace of counting five six seven between strike and sound? and why do you sometimes you have to tell the smart man what a love poem looks like? it looks like this, you think, legs and lightning and rod and a woman lying on a bed with a key between her knees. it looks like the colpo di fulmine, and the way a man rises and leaves the room.

Back of the Envelope

Image taken with iPhone while watching the storm out the window.
Words written on the leather couch.
Ears On the sound of the fan.
Time Taken Five minutes.
Brain On performing tonight, live, with a band, for the first time ever.

This entry was published on July 13, 2012 at 1:37 pm and is filed under July, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

2 thoughts on “[169]

  1. How could he leave the room?

  2. Garrett on said:

    A really smart man knows that lighting won’t strike if he dosen’t stop the science talk and strap the feed bag on.

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