Air And Water Show Poem by Brian Maloney

1

My eyes are heavy and my body is tired,
but the energy that I have is generated from a thought.
The thought isn’t plain or narrow–
the parsec of its imagination cannot be grasped by my hand;
it is not lost or even capable of being lost–
its position is never in relation to the space it fills;
it is not alive with vigor and excitement.

Instead, it is constant–
as constant as water that folds on the shore of the lake,
that quiet shrug outward from the shoulders of the sea.

My feet are wet with it.

As I try to move away,
to recognize something else, the water
calls me back,
licking the loose ends of my mind.
The sand resettles and rests.

A tender moment and the spinning wheel turns.
The thought runs electric.

2

Briefly,
beneath the buildings and blue of the sky,
the thought turns into poetry.
The wild acrobats spin with aggravated discipline,
dancing through the free fall,
fireflies riding the breeze.

The thought screams overhead.

3

I talked to you the other day.
As desire goes, it feels like ages and all the pleasantries
that are often repeated seem renewed and full of purpose.
I never understood my dislike of physical contact
and I don’t understand why I didn’t hold you when I should have.
I have idealized it, but the moment was real.
Was it not?

The thought falls beneath.
Darkness… lust… the spinning wheel turns.

4

Would you believe that I saw your face
in the place where a woman shared space with me this morning?
That after all this time and place,
what tugged at my heart was my own arm
around a woman that I knew only so much
instead of an understanding of the bonds that bind and build?
That I awoke with a dull burning in my chest
and light splashing through my windows
to know that the pillow across town was only just fulfilling its purpose
and dancing it’s dreamer to sleep?

The thought still screams…
doubles…
extends…
the spinning wheel approaches its break point…
slows…

5

The water feels cool around my sun burnt shoulders
and off in the distance I see the tall buildings
scrape at the summer sky, curious of its intentions.

The thought nags at the horizon.

The screams that echoed off my chest
and the buildings only drag across my mind,
smoothing the water that folds at the shore.
The sand shakes my feet in a gentle hello,
pulls me down and in. I don’t want to break,
but my friends are stealing away to the night.

And I am tired.

Can a body relax around another?
I always feel tense from posing,
tense from trying,
tense from attempting whatever,
whenever.
Is it possible to
tease the tickle of sleep
while moving
in a motionless twirl?

The thought claws back, effortless and unconscious…
The spinning wheel turns…