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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.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Anything
Come
Battling
Giving
Buildings
Never
Pulling
Monsters
Burning
Building
Give

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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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Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
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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 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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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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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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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 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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Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
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I'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation.
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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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Here I am in a rabbit run, here I am in a valley of pine, waiting for you to find me. I could pretend I’m speaking to everyone—assume a middle distance and transcend myself—but I’m taking to you and you know it.
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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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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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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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Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.
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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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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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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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I am singing now while Rome burns.
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