remembrances

Pain always produces logic, which is very bad for you.
:: Frank O'Hara


i came across frank o's words by pure coincidence
"I love you, I love you,
but I'm turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist."

it's hard to come across such words--
for something to lie dormant somewhere, forgotten, is one thing
but to conjure it up with words, well, it opens a new dimension
a new understanding to see my thoughts splattered on a page, glistening
flames of "fire and ice," as some other poet once said
indistinguishable from the bright, bright cinder smoldering in my heart

the moment has replayed in my head many times over
it was summer or spring, fall even
i can never remember things in their proper timeline
it's all continuous stream that spills over into my dreams
and even a future thought

it was most likely summer because the words were hot
hard, harsh coals burning my eyes, and even felt like new
more so as if it was my own consciousness rebelling
turning me inside out, showing me no mercy for my silence

it could have been the end of spring, I think
but it could not have never been
"... crying to confuse the brave 'It's a summer day,
and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world.' ... "

there was a day before those words were found.