Auroras

by Joanna Klink
[it's magic]

It began in a foyer of evenings
The evenings left traces of glass in the trees
A book and a footpath we followed
Under throat-pipes of birds

We moved through a room of leaves
Thin streams of silver buried under our eyes
A field of white clover buried under our eyes
Or a river we stopped at to watch
The wind cross it, recross it

Room into room you paused
Where once on a stoop we leaned back
Talking late into daylight
The morning trees shook off twilight
Opening and closing our eyes auroras

Beyond groves and flora we followed a road
Dotted with polished brown bottles,
Scoured furrows, a wood emptied of trees

It was enough to hollow us out
The evenings left grasses half-wild at our feet
Branches with spaces for winds

The earth changes
The way we speak to each other has changed
As for a long while we stood in a hall full of exits
Listening for a landscape beyond us

NASHVILLE MEMORY

  baby
what does that even mean
sweet mango tea,        tart
sweat

blackberry leaves
hibiscus,  for   show
papaya,    for sound
rose hips,       etc

but it is blood
what    a     wonder
thinned  with water
tea       leaves

like cucumber, how?
like    wintery    leaves
brittle shells bouncing
like       roundabouts

indeed a wonder
most people are absolutely
terrified    of   roundabouts
in      the    south

poetry is what makes me
interesting. it's inside you waiting
for me  ,  may I use it, or have it?
why      is     your     ring

so unfocused? reminds
of looking for a single
sock  (when its not on
your                     foot)

    Fox!
nearly      dead
with the cutest
fidgets

ever seen with a beer.
this is a good way to
get to know a person
and                 oneself

what is it about poetry?
this is why I  need you.

It's the easiest thing in the world, if you let it be. And the hipsters outside the coffeeshop and the hipsters outside the university across from the coffeeshop, across from the university. It was all too easy. I just got tea, and this is just a memory. I'm writing this now, but it happened five years ago. Except nothing happened, except the memory. There was a Katie and a Nikki, me, coffee and tea, bagels most likely, perfectly colored and summered and lengthened green grass, everything seemed to be wood oriented (wooden chairs, wooden tables, wooden stairs, wooden buildings) on the coffeeshop side and concrete type material (but the academic type) on the university side, populated by flocks of hipsters and a girl with some brass (a horn). What they don't seem to know is that there have been hipsters since there have been hips. There can only be one person in the world doing something truly new at any moment, and that moment can last any amount of  time.

LEFTOVERS

lips in the valley - glazed with the dust
with the antique woodpecker
with the leftover pie crust
there is soda in the fridge
for the kids
I was falling apart with you
I had to
this is your bait
catching light
clinically, not casually
some kind of lust
"gimme the message"
lost memories like
lingering pile of snow
smoked black, just
like a little mountain
that's not my tree
walking backwards against winter
sticky feelers dark
fake shadows
can everyone be used
in some way or another?
like
"blah, blah, blah"
again, what if I have to choose?
catching thoughts not thought
"may I ask you a question,
or two?"
you have an ambiguous grace
an accidental will of your own
as they say
you've lied before
but are you a community, or alone?
I wish you were we, nonetheless
boy, wouldn't that be!

To Seem

Becoming less addicted
Like watching people park
Slicky snowflaked ticket
Sparkles optimistic sparks

More important to seem
Sometimes, a few times a year
Fluky "goodbye, whatchamacallits"
Merely to be civilized

More important to seem
As in, seeming can be doing
If you can't quite do, I mean
Beatitudes seem nice

The Commandments can't correct
Christian stuck puzzled
Seem to forget
Not very like love

Some take longer to smile
And some have bangs
Just as sad as leaving
Someone you don't feel

Sad leaving - which is not strange
The truly personal question
Arranged appropriately with lullaby
And surprise! it's human!

Again - strange - for me
As a male, completely
To have bangs, I think
How many have been wrong

When thinking of me
- as in, the other person
With which they were
Meant to be - I wonder

Whizzles seem scanty
Ancient and pleasant, up there

The Weather

Why do people talk about the weather?
Elderly folk, with their elderly shirts
Unintentionally tucked into their underwear, together
Who doesn't like a good window, for dessert?

It's kind of eerie, looking into your own
Would it be easier if she knew my intent?
The text of my texts can only sketch my tone
That only time can only supplement

Cheers! to "hello's" (and) insufferable obsessions
Why do I care why people talk about the weather?
Being nettled by needless transgressions
"Yes, hi. I would like to inquire about not becoming mushy leather?"

Think about me, and let me know what you think about me
Some people just stand there with their bodies
And some people just stand there with their minds

happiness

I ate the chocolate
yes, I want the wine
forgive me for leaving the dryer on
it was noise to me
chinatown
vanity
purity
"don't forget the asparagus, honey"
sure, sweetie
six hundred more years

Nassau, 2014

everything went white

neither darkness

nor light

perhaps shadows

could have been the drugs

but it didn't feel like

murmerers mumbled

perhaphs polite

unheard, almost silent

quiet, and nice

complete white comfort

perhaps a pause

just shadows

but it felt alright

Adam

sometimes - memories quiver
slowly, like sliding into a spider
suspending from its webstring

it frightens
drags the furniture into the bathroom
to get a good think on things, easily, cozily
restfully

driving buckets round the island
how old were we then?
linoleum floors
sounded like buildings cringing

it was just you and me
back then
you had the curls, the girls
I had the humor
and a naive sense of things

still do

just me now -
popping through life
thinking these things -
except for the memories
occasional dreams
that stick like spider strings
you're still here
aren't you?

Company

I'm glad you came
company is...
"as honey is to the jaguar"*
"how did you get there?"
I ask of everyone
Secretly
I seem to stay the same

the time that it takes
to breathe is all that I have
and to stare

true love
"we've never kissed before
and it might be strange"*
I'm using you

*courtesy of John Ashbery and Tobias Jesso Jr, respectively

Bird Caged

this is about you
    bird caged
indulging beliefs, believing indulgences
    at some point
there is no difference
    do you remember the wintery days?
with nothing else to do
    a long time ago
when why was everything
    we don't have much of a winter here
every season has it's own feelings
    with vacation variations
vacation has a melody beyond itself
    at least you cried
Thursday
    I know you did
Wednesday, Friday, I did too
    my family heirlooms are in the ceiling
my possible escape
    somewhere
I could sell them
    but they are strange
it's more about serenity
    loneliness isn't loneliness
if you embrace it (I think, I'm not sure)
    but this is your challenge, not mine
etcetera

I've surrendered
    all of these things:
        failures, realization
            country city kiss lipstick
                songs, companions
                    anguish for vagueness for silence

for what?
    I don't remember
do I project a greedy, bloated costume
    screaming brilliant noises
of gifts unseen?
    I should mention jazz
at this point
    not the genre
the strange, secret spasm
    is that right? is that what it was? it's always been there
what is it today though?
    everything can't be a costume
(time) is a pretzel, it works that way
    there are burning weaknesses
        there are complacent strengths
I rival a machine
but one of the earlier ones
this is about digestion
desires
observations
and the combination of quality and quantity of moments
shit! if I had known.