Note: I've been really fond of this idea of 'Observations of "inlove." ' I find that first one is more successful than this one, but like I said, I like the form and will therefore continue to write these observations.
When I'm in my room I imagine Kurt Cobain hanging halfway out of my closet.
How I house heroin addicts, but how I am not addicted myself. Because it's some attempt
to be better than everyone else.
And I flipped over my bed, because Kurt wanted to make a fort and hide-- like me-- from Love.
And anybody else we could love and could not love.
We wanted to be astronauts together, but astronauts couldn't have
dye jobs or day jobs. And we traded pogs, pills and amunintion. We traded
paintings of flipper babies and poetry about moon pies. But then the asshole decided
to become a musician.
But I wanted to stay a child and become a clown and join the fucking circus.
The joke is always on the one you least expect it to be.
When I'm in my room I imagine Kurt Cobain hanging halfway out of my closet.
To read what it would be like to date me, Sonja Lynn Mata, click here. <--- Also a work in progress.
----
DATING
AN ACTOR
Dating
an actor is a knock at the door.
And
it’s his look. With his gestures inwards.
It’s
a twisted program
spiraling
the names of past co-stars.
Each
one a sense of truth—love
(d).
And
it’s an embrace--
a
weight dropping to the floor &
rolling
under the piano forming
scattered
limbs and splattered helix hair.
It’s
a rough hand searching for a denim mouth,
fumbling
with left, right buttons &
right,
left zippers.
And
it’s an impulse—
an
energy leaving your fingertips,
out
of my place & directed across the curve
of
my hip.
It’s
a repetitious phrase. &
a
slinging of text. It’s taking a breath.
Its
your words unscripted,
but
still sweetly projected.
It’s
squeezing together knocking knees and curling elbows.
But
it’s a moment not taken in because I am watching
the
dust float between the lights &
desiring
names like So, Be, Me.
---
DATING A POET
Dating
a poet is a borrowed book.
And it's his book. With his name.
It's a complied list of micro fiction
whispered into a collarbone. Hoping
that condensed conversation will heal
the fracture.
And it's a spine--
a lanky alignment breaking at the arch,
forming sky breaking ribs,
breathing harder and softer, softer till silence &
elbows still digging into a collage mattress.
It's socks kicked off and
helix hair gliding off the shoulder. &
watching it fall together.
It's tracing my hip. &
tugging on each others belt loops. It's a graceful lowering.
But it's something never intended &
our pair of lips only part at the sound of a phone
vibrating & it's louder than our
sucks and slurs.
Louder than my desire to stay. Louder than wanting to turn
your sweatshirt
strings in my fist & to tongue your gap.
It's my humiliating longing for expectatings-- &
for poems titled with our name-- even if it's something
generic likessa, Sa, ora.
---
DATING
A MUSICIAN
Dating a musician is something not intended
And
it was you. With a subtle wonder.
And
I said “yes.”
And
it’s unlike dating an actor
And
it’s unlike dating a poet.
And
we are back—here
in
my room, our index fingers
the
only parts of us
together.
And
you are tapping on my ribs
like
they were keys. And you are
nuzzling
the side of my neck like
I
were the grill of a mic.
And
it was you—
back
at the show— a realization
that
in this moment I am not your lover &
that
you belong to everyone else there.
And
your attempt to save the set is
by
giving me an autograph on my chest,
but
my legs are tired.
And
I fall out of your wires
but
you follow me into bed. Still
whispering
lyrics into my ear.
---
DATING A SECOND MUSICIAN
Dating a second musician is a missing a tribute night.
