it's supposed to be winter and
i'm officially tired
of all their
grand gestures,
symbolic meetings of solidarity,
rallying cries,
and statement games.
right now
i want the forgotten,
the never noticed,
the pushed aside,
the beetle's wing,
the offscreen,
bob marley's toe,
the surrendered,
and useless shadows
at 4 o'clock.
it's supposed to be winter,
and
my biology's
hammering
for a long overdue hibernation
curled
behind closed doors
with you:
what we
see, feel, smell, taste
and nothing else
for a while;
and down blankets,
and snow,
and windows
translucent
from frost.
tonight i turned the heat on for us,
listened to the pipes' ping
for a while,
pretended
i was waiting for you
somewhere else.
Los Angeles - 2/15/06
