THE APEX IS STILL THE APEX
The first time I heard your voice it edified me speechless,
showed me the fallibility of words,
made me question my belief in dictionaries--because definitions,
they no longer work here,
they’re too restricting and they lack potential.
My mouth is the parachute that my tongue’s holding onto
and in every attempt to call you by your name
my chest clamps itself around my lungs
as if to hold my breath.
If your body is a temple,
show me where the miracle happened,
teach me to see,
tell me a fable,
give me something to be--lieve in.
Our babble is an exercise in long-form improvisation
and I seriously need you to stop talking.
Close your eyes, tell me
without words.
As if speaking would spawn an apocalypse inside you
be silent,
pronounce yourself without syllables,
speak to me with fingerprints,
show me who you are in the darkest corners of your eye lids,
when the lights go out,
in the shadow
when you can not be seen,
show me who you are in this moment,
tonight.
In the stillness of this silence you’ll hear me tell you
how the apex found me when I wasn’t looking,
carried me to the summit
showed me the light
as if I was the sun.
Fill me with helium and I’ll show you my sunspots
giant magnetic fire that I am,
bringer of warmth,
center of solar system,
beacon burning bright spot,
you would be the spark that ignited me,
the abundance of fuels that keep me burning
and the light that I emit to the farthest reaching ends of existence,
so bright
that after everything I am
they may see me for eternities to come,
my lifelong message,
pronounced in radiance.
And from here I get to see you for all your dark spots;
fashionable satellite,
flawed, fluent and flanked by craters
where the truth struck you and left you honest.
I’ve been admiring you from whatever distance I could,
projecting myself off of you so often
that when I move out of sight
people get to see the full potential of everything you’ve ever been.
Now read for me a passage from Moon’s autobiography,
show me where the miracle happened,
tell me where it hurts,
teach me how to be still in your presence
because I forgot my moon boots
and I keep throwing my tongue out there like a paratrooper;
hoping that something lands
but there’s no gravity where you’re standing
so it’s no wonder I get dizzy,
because baby, I’m not really an astronaut
and when the lights go out
in the darkest corners of my eye lids,
when I forget what it means to see
you’re the giant magnetic night light
in my anything forever sky.
Show me that darkness does not equate emptiness.
Give me the night.
Fill me with light.
Live up to your hype.
After everything we are,
your name
spelled out in light years
looks a lot like my smile
ignited
by sparks.
01/10/2010