Untitled No. 1

Yes, yes: there is no soul or promise or truth or

Substantial kind of self or perfect kind of regular

Sex to look for or have or want. You take care

Of your teeth well and your body, which is

Shy but not doubtful or silent.

I really do have something to say, or look at

And it’s not about sanctity or brilliance or being polite.

When I get home I won’t sit still

for any more days or lie down forever.

Instead, I’ll be your dancer: stepping backwards into

Some light, follow me there. Tomorrow

is yours, like I am–a good morning as good

As a forgetful one. As for brilliance,

let me say that a good pear is a waltz–

Split up for us to share.

Everyone is always being an angel or being

Forgotten or forgetful. You’re always seeing

A movie or catching the train or parting

My lips with your thumb and smiling.

The surface is always new or old

Or otherwise reluctant

To make the bold claim of itself. I make

Many different kinds of small claims

That I believe less than the big clumsy

Ones I read about.

I don’t believe in god. I do

Believe in the movies.

Let’s sit still some more, sometimes

As in, not always.

On the train a woman has my name

On the pale inside of her wrist; you

Could say that I am there, being. You could

Say that this is who I am.

I wanted to say that I think this

Is how we are born: carved

Into things very beautiful and already made.

At the movies: porous, shadowed,

And trying. Close to you, quiet–

Blinking, re-released. Let’s not sit still so much

anymore.