Who you Love // Who you Die for

10.27.2018 – Pittsburgh, PA

 

Twenty-four hours later
When the sunlight hits your head
As it did the day before,
Will you still Love this place?
Will you tell those you Love
That you Love them
And would you Die to see them
Live and to not see them
Suffer and cover
The holes in their backs
With kisses and fill them with
Clay so they stand like
Mud golems and fall into line
With all of the nobodies
Trying to Love
And Dying because?
Would you cry and
Sleep talk with God,
Plugging the leaks in your faith
With borrowed time and
Someone else’s blood
And would you Die
To see the oppressors
Fall from their pedestals
Landing in circles of shame
In Hell? Or maybe
You let sugar drip from your lips
With blank solemn eyes
And the Love that you preach
Is just Love for yourself
And who Dies does not matter
Unless it hurts something more
Than a headline and a
Disappointed sigh?
Will you Love the remains
Of a body like you Love
The money in its pockets,
Or will you look away
And pretend that it doesn’t
Reek of your ignorance,
And will you Love the world
That lets them Die,
Saying that That is the way
It goes, That is the way
We treat the ones we Love
We forget them
We desert them
We make them exceptions
In war and in peace
We let them go and shrug it off
Like holding an umbrella
In a flood and waiting for the
Water to go away.
Who you Love // Who you Die for
One and the same, you know,
And when tomorrow comes
And you still Love that place
Where those you Loved
Went to Die,
You lose the right
To call yourself a Lover at all.

 

 

Another World

Inhaled your smoke on the subway,
Your knees the summits formed
By the mountains of your sloping legs,
Which are slender but cold.
The ash on your fingernails
Dampens pink flesh.
I want to reach over and dust off
Your hands,
Fill them with warmth
That reaches into the core of your marrow
And leaves no vein untouched,
But your eyes are glazed over
The way I remember that clear gel dripping
Over clay before sticking it in a furnace.
Here we stall for time
Between one station and the next,
But in another world
We might be joking about
The advertisements along the top of the car,
How one of them is so striking
And another is so discursive,
Laughing at the faces each other makes
When one points out how
That potted plant looks flaccid
And the other realizes it’s a metaphor.
In another world
We might be living together
As students,
Where the holes in that gray sweater
Hanging loosely around your legs
Are at worst an accident
And at best a memory.
We might have sung together
The joys of being alive
In a tiny apartment far uptown.
I would have played the piano,
And you perhaps a violin
That you love so much to hear,
Curving your lips into a smile
I cannot discern from your face.
I glance at the curls of your dark brown hair,
Imagining how it sways in the wind
As you step off the subway
And disappear around the corner.
All that lingers in the air is the smell of smoke
From the burnt residue
Of another world.