Supertramp - Crime Of The Century, 1974.
Cover art by Paul Wakefield.
Joseph W. Spoor, Electro Astronomical Atlas, 1874
In kindergarten they teach you to share your things
beating on your backs that
materials both mean and don’t mean
So much
The six year old reasoned
My body is whole and present
Made up of solids, liquids, and gases
Things
That can be shared
So
My ears attend to the words that spill from your mouth, and memorize each one
My eyes flit and strain to absorb the world that buzzes around you
My hands pose to comfort and labor as you need them, whenever you need them
My voice pops up to reassure, to proffer my compliments and sentiments tacked on to the
miracle of your existence
Anything you so desire
Handpicked from the collection
of myself
never fret
It is my greatest joy
to be so wholly yours
It is my greatest,
It is my favorite,
Purpose of my body
But then you —
But then I wonder
What true marriage is like
And I curl my toes and squeeze shut tight my eyes
Because I know I can’t achieve it
S.M.
here is a list of things I want:
Not too much but
a woman’s love
to see what I look like whole
to know where I belong
and until then, to search
until I wither and grind to dust
to be a sun,
a perfect round brilliance,
for a sun
dare I ask
to know my purpose
which would be to ask
what is my path
which swoop, swirl, and switch
like the winds that mold the earth and seas and us
for which there is little knowing and choosing so
only going with or against
And in the end
to die
good and well
S.M.
There’s not enough space in my suitcases and too many possibilities to fill it and time sizzles down the rope in sparks approaching explosion and there aren’t enough of your words to calm the flow I cry so hard my eyes throb and for what I can’t say except that I only know there’s always enough music to cradle me to a sleep i never wake I never push the boundaries of what I’m given so spoiled I always hold my hand out for more I push so much out to keep empty space afraid for something more
S.M.
