Sunday, Feb. 12, 2012
Things This Thing Called I Loved
Stepping off the busy street Into an alley that opens
Into snow & space & ambiguous trees Slipping out of the shadows
Into another's life Of stillborn & suicidal siblings
Belt buckles & flying pots Running a finger along the gash
Against the bathroom door one more time One learns to love distant things
Mountains & airports & approaching The end of every given line
Rolling from bombings & blows Into sleep in the midday sun
Slipping from another's loving grip Into cold & space & blinding light
After emerging from Milwaukee's baby factory, St. Joseph's Hospital, Jayson Iwen started moving... to Menomonee Falls, LaFarge, Luxemburg, Green Bay, Albuquerque, Milwaukee, Beirut, Madison, Yellow Springs, and now the Twin Ports, where he's currently cooling his heels in Lake Superior. He writes a lot, reads a lot more, and gets published once in awhile. If you like this poem, check out his book Six Trips in Two Directions, or keep your eyes peeled for Humon, for whenever someone has the good sense to publish it.
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