Ode
I have written too many lines
too many times, about nothing
its doesn’t create, won’t facilitate
the cunning
the charm
the wit
I spit in the general direction
wondering if it’s good, understood by my various inflections
I’ve tried to capture, enrapture my own preserved audience
As if I, the hidden spy of a creator can be honest with myself
I say this all to mean
Honestly
that I have been chasing after your presence
It’s an essence I want to write, recite, invite
into my written down, paper-bound, sound of poetry
I can better express, obsess when you are a word string
A lyrical spring of my own personal touch
but as I realize, materialize into this game of wanting you
getting through the notebook paper I see what you are
so far I am barred off your scent
It’s unrest, a conquest for your everlasting bliss
I cannot tame you, frame you, claim you within a prose
because it knows you need to flow, slow
and steady
it’s unbearable, incomparable to any race or chase that I’ve come to face
the inability, the incontinuity of the trace you leave
the one thing I cannot grasp
I thirst, the worst kind of curse to yearn for a quenching drink,
to sink gently and safely into whatever you bring me
I hate this iron gate I fail to pass
but since you are unattained and unashamed to be so beautifully insane
I will allow this line
this rhyme
to cease,
release,
and retreat from my quest to explain it,
name it
this fire that burns to write you
to find you in words
something I can understand
but the other hand
I love that I can’t.
(2014)
