brute

so i have said something limited. so what?
linens snapping on the line, the placid look of wine
set aside hours ago in favor of a lover’s arms,
the heat of your face sending unspoken accusations,
the rise and fall of the weeds or autumn leaves or
commuters, like tides pulled by the rising falling sun:
in the face of these and everything significant i am inarticulate
and must resort to the crude mimings of our youth.
do not mock. remember: as i ape the human faculties
i am mocking no one, neither you nor myself. i am only
pushing, arced in full contractions as i push and push
the stubborn words, driving down the sense of things and
hoping for some sign that something has come out not entirely
misshapen, that someone else has held it and has understood.

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