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I wouldn’t kill your pony. I’d like to believe it, anyway. I’d like to believe I wouldn’t drag you out in to the woods and leave you there, either. So far, it hasn’t come up.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Woods
Kill
Wouldn
Leave
Pony
Either
Ponies
Come
Drag
Believe
Hasn
Like
Anyway

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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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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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Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?
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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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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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The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.
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Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
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Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands, these shins, these soapy flanks
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When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
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We laugh & it pits the world against us.
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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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He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place – well then, game over.
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I am singing now while Rome burns.
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He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.
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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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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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The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.
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Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.
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Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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