Cake, Fork, Next

Richard Siken. Crush

And you can hear the sound of the waves in this bit from "Seaside Improvisation"

and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
and then "Visible World" throws upon onto the shore
     The light is no mystery
the mystery is that there is something to keep the light
                                                                             from passing through
it could very well be that the blathering on about joy and the blocking of light arise from the same impulse — to transcribe the sensation of contact
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine — or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin — I'll be right here. I'm waiting.
what I like about this suggestive passage in "Saying Your Names" is the unmentioned but sensed or anticipated clinging of the lovers — all that the words really offer is the delectable detail of the clinging clothes: the sartorial drench.

longer bits are required to appreciate the music that build from the small bits repeated like a soundtrack (from No 24 from "You Are Jeff"
You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.
here the contractions contribute to the words slipping over the experience almost imperceptible from being (you're) to having (you've)

and a passage from which we glean the title to this blog entry
Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's
the desire to put it inside us, and then the question
behind every question: What happens next?
from "Snow and Dirty Rain"

And so for day 1582