Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Steganography III


It's the repulsion
of atoms that makes us

unable to touch.
The distance between rain

and pattering glass is the same
between hissing fist

and patient temple, bullet and
brainstem, infinitely divisible.

I am in danger of flying
apart at any moment, reaching

for a paring knife to halve
the nectarine with empty,

razor-sharp space, knowing
I will never grasp the knife,

cannot even reach.

1 comment:

Court! :) said...

There's something about this poem that makes me feel like I could touch it.

Sounds weird, right?

The imagery simultaneously gives me chills and excites me.

Love it.