Chicagoetry: How Could I Not Seethe?

HOW COULD I NOT SEETHE?

How could I not seethe
for the exquisite luxury
of your
skin?

How could I not burn
for the fugitive elegance
of your
face?

My manly quest enslaves me.
Ensnared you, scared you,
beguiled you--like
a bitch cobra--

if only for a fortnight.
That's an English
term. This
is History.

As I wait to die
in failure, fighting
for every inch,
I lie awake praying.

I pray and pray
but God has nothing
to say. No
history.

Just memory:
the scent
from your wrist,
your vicious kiss,

your lemon hair
in the sunlight
at B'Hai
Temple. Two minutes

of mystery, a frontier
of hope, dreams
come to life (to memory
if not history).

Let's remain
anonymous!
Our memory
equals history.

I
remember.
I
burn.

-

J. J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He can reached at jjtindall@yahoo.com. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

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