Like Earhart

Ever since she left she keeps being gone. It is as if we were notBut if I am unrealWhy is my flesh stained by reality The shy part of my wrist a plum-blue and yellowSkin she has known as obscenely as her fingers reaching inside of my mouth. This is not a case of distance…

Whatever I have, it is something else I want.

Cold nights these. I love the cold, until it is cold, then I crave the warmth. When the sun comes out like a drag queen on stage, I am praying for rain. Whatever I have, it is something else I want. And this is what unhappiness is made of. It is December. I wrap myself…

Postcards from Istanbul /4

“When I met you, you were both for me: the sensual and the spiritual. The two can never separate…” – Paul Celan to Ingeborg Bachmann Paris, 31 Oct 1957   Precious, precious one. The day closes on me again. I am left wondering just how little life is and how fleeting our time on earth….

Postcards from Istanbul /3

“When I feel like being with her I almost prefer not being with her So as not to have to leave her afterwards.” – Fernando Pessoa My precious one, Today my heart has been with only you. I miss you more. All this beauty I see fades before the way your face glows in my…

Postcards from Istanbul /2

“To write words I put a symbol in place of an absent sound. To write the words ‘I love you’ requires a further, analogous replacement, one that is much more painful in its implication. Your absence from the syntax of my life is not a fact to be changed by written words.” – Anne Carson…

Postcards from Istanbul /1

“What impels me to write you all the time? Before I can even turn around to look, from the unique destination, unique you understand me, unnameable and invisible, that bears your name and has no other face than your own, before I can even turn around for a question, at every moment the order to…

Note to (your)self

To you who feel too much, loves too much, gives too much: I am one among you, and it is time to be proud of what you are made of, even if what you are made of is gullibility. To you who are moved too easily, fall in love too easily, believe too quickly what…

Sext – Four

Mere hours separate us now. Let this time of longing be sweet. Five excruciating hours between this moment where I lay in the darkness typing this and the moment you emerge from glass doors at the airport. Time takes on such a different quality when I am with you and when I am not. Time,…

How can you not return?

  Isn’t it just the truth that the places you ought to stay away from are the places you have loved the best? Ancient ruins, abandoned forts, haunted houses, and people. Some places you simply must not return to. Yet, return you do. It’s an itch you need to scratch. A boil that beseeches a…

A Journal of Undoing – Three

Ever saw someone who made your brain freeze when they smiled? Someone whom you couldn’t bear to lean on you in case they heard your hammering heart?   Hers is a beauty that loosens the flesh from my bones and makes its home in the canals of my marrow. Each time I saw her, an earthquake…