You and I are two of a kind
I know you know what I mean
when I say I wish I could talk
I mean really talk to someone
talk like an airplane takes off
talk like the world spins around
and listen like beat up eggs
and talk back without a sound.
The students and professors get off
on filling the room with challenges
to what some of them thought last week
but no longer do having moved on
the very chairs they sit on show
stability of the most rearrangeable
kind whispering and bellowing in
the not-so-kind language of foxes.
How can the brothers of my own flesh
present company excluded of course
and from the flesh and brain of our common
father at least for most of a long life
be so incuriously self-satisfied
with tossed-off, knocked-off and pissed-off
replies to level questions with piles
of leaves ready to be jumped in?
Data ordered waiting for analysis
analysis prefigured by archetypal
fears, tricks and unguents
nothing is what it seems to be
before the shower and after the shower
poring over the latest sheet
of notes about how we will proceed
when I get those clothes off you.
Unaccompanied and unresponsible
you and I lean against the rocks
smooth from being waved on
at the unkempt beach below the cliff
putting driftwood on wavy fire
lit for no practical purpose but
watching while we lie about needs
and wants wet, sandy and late.
I want your talk to be my blanket
I want to talk back in your sleeping bag
below the belt and in the vein
where silver or maybe lava
ran between the harder layers
taking place and waiting like I
have been waiting geologically
to embrace and be embraced.