In Promise [audio]

[rowens]

The awkward intellectualizing of feelings, like what was talked about in another thread days ago.




[youtube]hZyVROlryOE[/youtube]


I have smoked these fags to the bone;
Egg-shelled my reputation
With cartoned rags, and anglo-igloos.
And I wanted so much to give in to this night.

How I wanted the warm sputters of competent love
To glue paramount inquisitions
To the indispensable parachutes of my plight.
But they will not listen!
Those that love.

You cannot love only a little bit;
But a fella has his moods.
And most is a reflex in the moment of it,
And after that,
Another mood.
Can’t you see that?

Or do I have—to tell you:
Never mind.
What I mean to say is: I don’t know.
That I do know:—But, so do you?
You say so. But in what way is that shown?

You can’t take offence, if I innocently
Murder the docile fitness of your lies.
So, they were lies. With no offence.
But have you not offended my eyes?

A cry is such a clichéd wager.
Some can fake cries. Actors do it.
But you aren’t concerned about that.
You’re assaulted by the real thing.

Yes, I cry, and cut my eyes
Like farts in the dismal,
Jocund fissures of my heart.
But that’s what the word means.

My heart has its cracks,
And above and beyond my literal
Connection, it farts.
Like the rapid fissure of your part,
When rapidly visited by those fiends.

I am a fiend that measures his depths.
And wagers no love that his laughter can’t wed;
—To eyes in the sky, and burps on the can:
I was a fit that coiled after bed.

And you,—
Closeted camerado of the pen,
Could dance such ectopic dangers
That, born of tried and tried
Again measures,
I thought you were my friend.

I thought you were my friend.
I thought you—were my friend,
Again. After all we’d been through.
I shudder to use the word, again.

Was it not immanent in my proposal?