Actual Distance to the Sun

The best name for a thing is
what you love about it

When you exhibit control the
world turns over
and looks at you funny

Touch the clasp of your coat,
the whole thing’s still empty

But what rises in the moment
still tends to resemble blood

Clutch a flagrant rifle,
as if there were purity in pain

Once the pieces of the self
are loosed
they can be washed and reassembled

Look at all the diamonds in the sky

Look now, look at the biggest one
it’s like a fire that
squeezes tight

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s