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Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Dresses
Warm
Clothes
Tell
Lake
Dream
Lakes
Body
Pull
Dress
Bodies

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You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.
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You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.
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The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.
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You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.
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Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?
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I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.
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I'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation.
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Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
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He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.
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Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.
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We can do anything. It’s not because our hearts are large, they’re not, it’s what we struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring your friends. It’s a potluck, I’m making pork chops, I’m making those long noodles you love so much.
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I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of the burning buildings/ and you say I'll give you anything but you never come through.
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Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
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The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.
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We laugh & it pits the world against us.
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I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made any sense, anything.
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The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.
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Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?
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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.
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