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Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Making
Body
Every
Moonlight
Mouth
Crosses
Mouths
Putting

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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.
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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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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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You’re falling now. You’re swimming. This is not           harmless. You are not                     breathing.
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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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When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
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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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We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.
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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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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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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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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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I don't know where I end and the world begins. My best guess? Skin. It's the only actual boundary between the body and the world, between a body and any other body.
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We laugh & it pits the world against us.
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Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.
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I’m not suggesting the world is good, that life is easy, or that any of us are entitled to better. But please, isn’t this the kind of thing you talk about in somber tones, in the afternoon, with some degree of hope and maybe even a handful of strategies?
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The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.
Richard Siken
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He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.
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Fairy tales have rules. You are a princess or you aren’t. You are pure at heart or you aren’t. If you are pure at heart, or lucky, you might catch a break.
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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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