Ankara (some more rough drafts in progress)

7 Feb 2010

I’m not a rugged individualist
I’m not a tarnished love mat
I’m not a tender refugee
I’m not a celibate cuddler
I’m not a Utopian experiment
I’m not a monarch with a whiff of pacificism
I walk these lands these lands I read
to my love who does not
exist I read to simplify my fallacies
I came to kiss and be kissed
I came to do what water does
and does again
this is bodily matter
these are the trivial
conditions of an empty
kingdom the barbed wire
of another Medussa
the heart strobe of another
America the rafters of another
Prod with folksy hammers
and ploughs my ghost chains
in the wacky woods such capital
my brothers is not federal
property I’m sick with child
I’ve got many others
I’ve never lived
a radical life
I’m pressed into
tenderness