One more cup of coffee
Like dust, smoke, the song of a lark, the touch of your hand, that point where gravity defies a body's desire to float and you are pulled down to the ocean floor... That point, high above the horizon, which determines a landing back on safe green ground or eternal flight... Gravity is so gently made, more a plea than command, come back to me, come back - and here we stand, at that same point talking all done and a decision to be made - do we fall, fly or drift apart? come back to me, come back. mr jones it startles me, the way our bodies know how to fit together when conversation (hi! you look well) has always been so / awkward / i suppose chat (still gigging?) is irrelevant when our lives are forever on different paths just this one crossroads involving legs and hair (remember when you had hair i met you at the party you said do you play guitar? have you read Tarantula?) now we are both a little ragged and you recede and shhhhh my memory) and tongues intertwined i never knew how simple this could be no need for interests in common (i have never read poetry my god why would i ?) when the essential thing is the weight of love never to be mentioned just weather and how sadness smells like dust on a highway (something ah something is happening here but we don't we can't know what it is) A book review of “Push” by Sadie Maskery Poetry Re-Post for Leonard Cohen Week: To the End of Love by Sadie Maskery 3 poems from “Push” by Sadie Maskery “Lost Child” “Rearrangement” & “Once we were”
Fevers of the Mind 