Ménage

Loneliness, insomnia and I—
The strangest bedfellows you’ll ever see—
Toss off our sheets together and we try
Our best to keep each other company.

We pick the blankets from the floor. We find
Some satisifaction studying the shade:
Bright diagonals dance up one blind
As Fred and Ginger danced across the stage.

Nothing calms our restless legs. We kick
Phantom spiders tickling prickly feet;
We rub our soles and wait; but we can’t trick
Our senses. These sticks generate no heat.

Or nothing like that warmth I remember
Reaching for—half-dreaming—fingers blue,
Frozen, teeth chattering, ribcage tender,
Where I received an elbow from you.

Daedalus and Icarus

For Gavin

Behold this blue bath towel: a
clean place to masturbate. My fate
falls to its surface, like wax
and feathers. There is no escape

for me. I’m Icarus tonight,
delighting in that dizzy dash
upward—ever upward—toward
a small, heart-breaking splash

below. Watch as my white hand
disappears in the Aegean.

Nosferatu

For Gavin

Your absences are fangs.
They plunge in, then withdraw
My soul. I feel your mouth
Fixed below my jaw:

The space where you should be
Nestled in, my neck,
Is empty as my bed.
I do not expect

To wake and find a pair
Of punctures in my throat,
My curtains flapping, or
A gothic-scripted note.

Everything will be
Normal: window cracked,
A pillow on the floor,
Door locked. You’ll be back

Tonight. You’re always there,
Behind me, like the Past,
A shadow I can’t shake.
How can the Future cast

A shadow back in time—
Seize me by the wrist,
Twist me around to face
Days which don’t exist

Yet? Is that power yours?
I half believe it’s so,
Since you are reading this.
I need you now. Although

I am not certain why
I ought to feel that way.
I know that you’ll be back
To torture me tonight.

Not stay.

Words as Birds

Here you are, and here am I,
Divided by so many miles.
Across the space between us fly
A flock of words. They are not birds,
These words. At least they try.

Soggy Saturday

The weather outside is pretty shitty in my corner of Connecticut, so I have decided to stay inside, and skip the gym.

The first two issues of my new subscription to Sky and Telescope showed up and there are some interesting articles on the new Mega telescopes being proposed. One with an astonishing 42 meter mirror! I imagine with a machine of that size cosmologists will move from counting stars to combing them out of the beard of God.

As for me, since the stars are destined to be invisible tonight, I am going to do a little laundry, a little reading, maybe a little writing. I may crank up the Victrola in the dining room. I’ve left two steaks on the counter to thaw, and I have two large celery roots in the fridge, aching to be boiled and turned into celery root mashed potatoes. And then, there is also that bottle of sake that I bought on my way home from Grand Central which needs finishing. I must attend to THAT.

In case you were wondering, I put out the second steak out for you. On a rainy day, feeling a bit cut off from humanity, one is apt to grow a little melancholy. A little lonely.

That's why I'm glad we're going to have dinner.

Until then, in honor of skies and telescopes, here is a little Auden...

The More Loving One

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.