Sunday, January 07, 2007

CARTOGRAPHY

She buys a torn and faded map
All the continents

are misshapen
The rivers smudged.

Her faith is inexhaustible.

So here I am
The bridge she will never cross.

The Cataratic mapmaker rubbing his
Eyes knowing only one route.

I stand on the other side
Watch her put on a mask
So we will know exactly

How she feels, watch
Her turn away
With map in hand

Watch her
As she gets
Smaller
And smaller.

I am on the otherside
Sitting on a chair in an empty room

In an abandoned house,
The windows have been boarded shut.

With my finger I erase
A ring of water
Left behind by her glass
It is true that I loved her

I am gaunt and my ribs
Are showing.
THE ECONOMY OF LOVE

The contradictions of strength
Iron versus Spider Thread. ( Misconception )
Surface thoughts ( Pre-conception)

To settle: to stop searching { macro}
To settle down: To start living ===attention to detail. (micro)
To settle: To give up.

Opportunity costs = give this up for that,

“What am I worth to her?”
Economy / Exchange
Market pressure.

The invisible hand
Of a divisible God.
Quid Pro Quo = this for that.
Short changed=Jipped, Jewed.

I sold a cow
for a bag
of magical beans

and she is angry
and doesn't understand.

She gives me coal
I give her back diamonds.
My hands bloody from
Parlor Tricks.

Slight of Hand = She loves me
Now she doesn’t

Opportunity costs and the
Point of diminishing returns.

Today is Black Monday
The great crash
Men jumping out of windows like lead love-birds

It’s 1929 again
The beginning of the great depression.

copyright c.a. leibow 2007
I BUILD A WALL


Of broken
Nights and shattered
Mornings that have
Been cast off to the
Side of the road.

To separate us -

Because I loved
Too much,
I take my
Blue excesses
And mix it
With the mortar
Reinforcing it.


*

Because I loved
Too Much
I dig a new ocean
Deeper than
My longing

To divide us -

People always
Asking about my
Soiled clothes.

I tell them,
"I am building
A wall
An Ocean
A Boundary

Because
I loved
Too much."


*

Because I loved you
Too much
I am dismantling our

Memories piece by
Piece, cataloging
Them away with

Tags that I make
From the scratching
Sound of sad old phonographs,

I file away the last one
As the music slows

Even slower till the springs
Unwind.