Cold Floor

Cold Floor

The dust scurries, moves, hides

My fingers take the pulse of linoleum

Wax, dirt, desire, finish, surface, sealer, room

Remnants of a shine, dried bugs, skeleton specks

We were the warmth, the life, the struggle, the stumble

Lying there as outlines of life, to live, to grasp, to want all

I turn my palm upwards, as if to control something that’s gone

Wasn’t the air the heaviest that night? It pressed us down, held us

What we left is now unlocked—floor-less space— abandoned, for rent

 

Cold Floor

As if it has misplaced the words

My spine. I cannot lay flat upon you

Your plastic skin has been manufactured

Pain was not real, that night, or any other night

Only sweat, evaporating quickly, losing all speech

Lost all signs, signifiers, meaning and meat, bone and skin

We are candy wrappers skinned sweet, scent of survival absurd

We could not stay there, it isn’t ours, it belongs to larger rooms, housed

Tile that mingles, holding galaxies, universes at bay, the floor is spinning

 

Cold floor

My feet are getting dirtier, dirtier

We cleaned together, clung to our heaviness

I am a crumpled paper, phone number named me

Our bodies—gravity, whirled—beneath polished sim skin

Sunk in masks—pushed up, propping an arm upon us all

We came here for the moments, motions, our starving plans

Pieces of tile, adhered, adorned, measured, while yet becoming

Worlds are found in rooms, they are claws scratching, patch of tile

We remember the feeling of the room, the air, our bodies, the cool, cool, cool, cool

 

 

(Art from Twin Lakes, Oregon)

28 Comments on “Cold Floor

  1. Wonderful to experience your words again in this difficult time of global pandemic. Different losses now but deep feelings flow on. ❤

    Like

  2. I appreciate your critique and understand what you say, but I offer you this. If we read The Waste Land, The Four Quartets, by Eliot or Cantos by Pound, or even better yet, these poets, Shakespeare, Dante, Ovid, etc, etc. etc., we find out that what you are saying is just wrong. From my perspective, poetry and writing can be whatever it wants to be, short, long, whatever. That’s at the heart of what’s called creativity. Thanks for reading. Take care.

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  3. Love the thought you are attempting to express and doing so at times. I think poetry is expression with as few words as possible, using only those words that express all. Eliminate those unnecessary words. Remember that pace and rhythm has its place, as well. My poor attempt at trying to help as you probably know more than I do.

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  4. Considerable write, in both contrasting images and imagery and format -they all worked with those killer thoughts and your uniqueness.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. So glad I found your blog. Your poetry is raw and deliciously real. “My palm takes the pulse of linoleum,” love this line!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I love this poem of yours. Not only the way you write it so beautiful, but I noticed that it is almost stairs-like phrases written on the page as if you paint it that way. 🙂

    Lovely!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Thanks for following my blog, and for letting me in on the poetic awesomeness that’s going on here. If the pictures aren’t intriguing enough, the words are downright mesmerizing. I’m looking forward to ongoing raptness. =)

    Liked by 1 person

  8. So very excellent. I love the line I…a crumpled paper, phone number named me. If I could speak in feelings then I could say how your poetry impacts me. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

  9. A very powerful and moving poem, and heart-rending, but your emotion didn’t take from your structural control or skill. wonderful stuff!

    Liked by 3 people

  10. I love the structure of this poem…it adds to the ‘jaggedness’ of it. The line “We are a candy wrapper skinned sweet, scent of survival absurd” gives insane imagery (plus contrast of candy versus peeling of skin) and the dissonance used hear is just so easy and beautiful to read, it’s effortless.

    Liked by 2 people

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