Recap of my visit to Daniel Arsham’s Hourglass exhibit at the High Museum of Art
Each of us desires to be remembered.
For our legacy to be given breath
after we take our last.
Bound by some eternal code
that demands we not be forgotten.
Each of us destined for death,
yet seeking immortality.
Somewhere beyond sanity
in a mental abyss
tainted by the murky remnants
of my pride and insecurities–
my soul drift.
Pregnant from the watery poison,
it darkens in hue
Sometimes I feel as if I’m light years away from myself,
even though I am myself
or at least pretend to be somedays.
Somehow I occupy this space,
mentally and physically
yet simultaneously leave it deserted like a forlorn passenger
sailing along the winds.
How long should I linger after we’ve said goodbye?
A moment? A day? A year? A lifetime?
I watch your figure wane in my mind’s eye
while I build you a shrine in my memory.
Oh how fickle we are.
Look how you curse and beckon me in the same breath.
Am I still as handsome as you remember?
How does my name taste against your cheek?
Dec. 7, 2016
There’s nothing quite like fall: the familiar hues, the cool weather, and the return of early nightfall. The season is marked by family gatherings, tradition, and celebrations as the world puts the finishing touches on the current year and prepares to transition into a new one. This year, I decided to commemorate the return of one of my favorite seasons by grabbing my best friend, heading to my favorite city, and taking lots of pictures.
There was violence in her nostrils
and her words, like talons, mauled my ego.
Adorned in fury and draped in scorn,
her regalia scented with stale words and broken promises.
Remorse and regret were her jewelry
and she suffered great expense.
Damned am I.
For her opulence is my death.
Damned, damned am I.
To have created that which will devour me.
Our lips collide, necessary and sure.
Two planets careening,
as violently as clouds passing by.
She takes my bottom lip between her teeth
and I let her feast.
She is ravenous and only I can satiate her.
Her hips and butt beg for guidance;
so I oblige, and master her geography
with my palms and fingers.
Perfection is too damned a thing to desier.
So, I pen epithets that lack adjectives and
archive poems that describe both
the intangible and unnatural.
For what I have known,
no man can translate or comprehend.
How Earth and heaven and sea and Hestia
have congealed into one being.
Recap of my visit to the Savannah College of Art and Design Museum of Art in Savannah, GA.
Goddess of the sea
who quells men’s hearts to a flutter
beneath an ocean floor of desire
She bid me come swim in her pool
and float beneath her carnal crests
as she laps against my skin
with ephemeral kisses.