October 24, 2008

Enough of the desktop. It’s not important.
There are other colonies. Fruit flies and crabgrass.
You have your own cupboards, your own letter opener.
I think this isn’t a promise. Should I apologize?
I’m like you, the folders, the book-ruined desk.
I should have worn a suit.
You are a not a chest of toys. I’ve learned these things.
You don’t have handles.
How can I get you into the car?
I didn’t know your breasts were made of moths,
but if I had I would have wanted to see them anyway.
You asked me to write your mother but your hair was like a knot
of yarn. The desk was full of bottle caps.
I wanted to tell your mother that she was like a blighted tree,
but I could only talk about autumn. Leaves
like an unkempt face, bags of them by the curb.
She didn’t understand—
I wanted to want you more thoroughly, like a broom swept floor,
a lamp, moths crashing around.
There’s no mice left on the ceiling. I cleaned
the desk, threw the onions away,
stepped over the rug as if it were razor wire.
Did I cover your eyes?
I meant to bear a perfect globe, a chisel
of fluorescent light. I didn’t mean to make you blind.

by Thomas P. Levy

Original soundtrack by FailboatDownload the MP3

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  1. e. moya
    October 30, 2008 at 8:21 pm

    This is beautiful- “I wanted to want you more thoroughly” Great line.

  2. October 31, 2008 at 3:06 pm

    I take this as a love poem, and they are extremely hard to write. Your weaving of the desk as a central metaphor and connection between lovers is exceptional, how it reflects the detritus of our lives in miniature. The suggested address to the mother skirts the inexplicable–the “blighted tree” does not fit into the dyad. Breasts as moths are wonderful. Stepping outside the desk zone into the world of relationships is an apt metaphor for a risky choice. Risk on!

  3. November 1, 2008 at 8:31 am

    Yes, I like this one.

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