Thursday, June 16, 2016

Transitions by Eileen Myles


Transitions

sometimes
I’m driving
and I pressed
the button
to see who
called &
suddenly I’m
taking pictures.
Big dark
ones. He says
it’s not about
where you sit
to make a
film
but I wasn’t
taking a
picture
I was driving
it’s black &

there’s all
these lights
I’m strong
it’s night
& I’ve

driven very
far

I keep hearing
the music
of the weekend
he says
it’s not about
whether she & I
resume
it’s how it goes
on
with me.

In my car
so long ago
I loved someone
who read me a poem
on the phone
about the car
of the day

you mean the
one I’m driving

and the fact that
she left it
on the phone
and that was new

she said I was overreacting
and that was too much
and we sent our messages
in light
and ack she hated
trees
I thought she’s so
young cause
I like nature
now and her trunk
wrapped around
me one day
he licks my
arm my boy
& driving home I thought
if he dies
I will see his paw
in the sky
I am seeing it now
and she’s always
home
going hwuh
and she said
I love our little
meeting I said

little
don’t denigrate
my need to support

my need to say
that you can

I’m glad I’m
Home   it’s wide
out there
we spoke about scaf-
folding
him fitting the
frame to the
eye
she’s grown
I wanted to say
we laughed about
tang
and later on the
toilet
thought
about tango
and joan
L Tango Larkin
what’s not technology
what’s not seeing
an arm to say
I hold the
line    I hold
the day
I watch the snowflake
melting

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