Vast version II

This is the poem Vast after I revised and edited it. I’m not sure which version I like better.  This is about a good friend of mine. Something about him makes him a really good subject to write on, but I can’t pin down why.  In any case, enjoy Vast 2.0 and decide for yourself which version is best.

 

I ask

“What are you afraid of?”

And you say

“The large vastness

Of the ocean”

And I envision you

Restless

Alone

Your mind sinking while you sleep

Haunted by the ocean

Pitch black except for that, deep

Blue water.

What am I afraid of?

The vast amount of meaning

Behind your eyes

When they’re fixed upon me

And I begin sinking into

Two black pools

That never seem to end.

The unconscious catch in my throat

When I look up

To see the vastness in your eyes

Piercing and searching all at once.

Like the Atlantic at midnight

Uncertainty under a pulsing,

Black current

Shining in spots

From a sliver of moonlight–

Brown eyes glinting from

The street lamp in the parking lot.

If I could hear the color

The blackness

The purity of the dark that fills your eyes

It’d sound like a rush of one hundred waves

Coming from all directions.

Deafening.

What to Say

I used to think my friend always spoke in monotone, until I really started to listen.  Sitting in his car, talking things out, I noticed how his voice changes depending on what we’re talking about.

 

Hearing the octave of your voice

Change every few minutes

Depending on the gravity

Of your words.

The longer the pause,

The deeper your voice will be.

The quicker you breathe,

The lighter the words will be

When they glide from your lips

Into the space between us,

Asking for a reply.

The little exhale of breath

And light syllables I almost can’t hear:

A soft laugh

Tickling my ears

When I say something to earn

That small smile

That I can feel without even looking.

Like I am seeing each individual finger

Move for the first time

When you pass them through your hair,

When you rest them on the wheel

To hide your face behind your arm

And peer at me

With uncertain eyes.

Never

I realized I’ve never liked someone without having him/her like me back.

Gone

I will probably

Drop off the face of your planet

To save you time.

The time you’d have

Without my nervous voice

In your ear

To forget me.

I am the gnat

You swat away

When you are trying to concentrate.

The bit of dust in the air

That makes its way into your eye

Unwanted.

That buzzing sound

That you can’t place the origin of

But you know with each passing minute

It is creating an annoying itch

In your mind.

Vast

I ask

“What are you afraid of?”

And you say

“The large vastness

Of the ocean”

And I envision you

Restless

Alone

Your mind sinking while you sleep

Haunted by the ocean

Pitch black except for that, deep

Blue water.

What am I afraid of?

The vast expanse of silence

That fills the space between us.

The vast amount of meaning

Behind your eyes

When they’re fixed upon me

And I imagine I am holding a needle

And you are the moth I cannot pin down.

The unconscious catch in my throat

When I look up

To see the vastness in your eyes

Piercing and searching all at once.

The large vastness of the ocean

The large vastness I fall into

Whenever your lips part

And I am drenched in anticipation.

Okay

Okay, so sometimes I have good days.  Sometimes I think,

“I am alive and that is amazing. I am made of stardust and that

is beautiful and I have survived and I am going to keep on surviving.”

Sometimes I feel like that dog I saw on the news that was born without

front legs, but he hops around like everything is just hunky dory.

He’s the happiest little fucker I’ve ever seen, and sometimes I think

I feel as optimistic as that little guy does.  Sometimes I feel like an optimist.

I think, yeah, sometimes life is awful but I’m gonna be a fighter and I’m

gonna find the silver lining in EVERYTHING and I’m gonna have the most pep

in my step than ANY OTHER person here. But other times, I feel more

like that bald, baby penguin I saw on National Graphic that one time.

The one that was getting kicked and tossed all over the place,

because the adult penguins were fighting over him, and they were

actually hurting the poor guy.  Sometimes I want to write all over

myself with a pen, just to feel the ballpoint burn and tear as it races

across my skin. I want to take that pen and pierce that fleshy part of

skin between my index finger and thumb.  Sometimes I want to

create a bald spot on the top of my head by plucking out hundreds of

fine hairs, one by one.  I want to feel it sting and burn, as if

the sun is beating endlessly down on it.  And I don’t

know which side of me is winning.