Saturday, March 11, 2006



O Karen, my computer wife,

you were saying

something about binary stars

clacking like false

teeth in the night.

Or was it lasagna

you offered me.

I was thinking of salt, again,

and broken promises

and dried leaves left

to winter

in the drain of our shallow pool.

I think your eyes

were my idea,

where to put them,

what color.

I wanted to see you always in this darkness.

No one ever said

how soon bones begin

to seep through the skin

or that sadness

is a substitute for the sacrament of the x-ray.

We should get

a dog, name him


truly unspeakable.

And start attending church

as though we

belonged, our mouths stuffed

with song.


Tim E. said...

That shit is dope.

Paul said...

Word! Word. Word?

Anonymous said...

O Paul Revere,
to you I have always
been a redcoat.
A history worth repeating.
Call me baby,
call me Karen,
call me once only,
and then expect Italian.
You were thinking
of a mountain.
You were thinking
of a promise broken
by silence,
and you thought, once,
of eyes.
But in spring,
you think only
of irises,
which bloom
in every
color imaginable.
I heard your cry
the first shot
rang out.
Perhaps I deserve
lanterns, drums, a song.
I have been Britain.
I never touched you
except with the Stamp Act.
I never loomed
except from across
the dark Atlantic.
I never figured you
for sad.
Let us get a dog.
Let us name him
In church,
you must think
your tea
if you think of me
at all.

nate said...

Is this Spongebob? I love Spongebob. Great poem, too, Paul.

Paul said...

It is Spongebob!