Monday, 3 October 2011

Far Dance Thrilling

Through the cotillion of hours two strangers met and met
would your music have fractured like the glass of the
    and would you have
                              as I kissed you
                                       and there?
Wondering what your hair smells like fresh from the
shower or the
    grains of your skin pressed backwards and up.
         Can you exonerate me for letting you go
and for dancing with you under clouds and rain and
    what does it matter if I let you?
Stars and explosions and yellow confessions crossing
      Crucified decorated in yellow late at night on amber
                                               moved me.
      We wrote on the electrified walls and Jung synchronicity
           and Jung exciting motion,
            Brownian reflex motions,
              charged strings pulling the universal
                   fabric pulled us too.
      Willing, thrilling, cursor for cursor
we never met and the dancing was sweat, sweaty motion
      that leads nowhere pacing around and around electric
      forever and nevermore words.  Worlds.
Will you forgive me for being your friend?
      Will you permit me to say it’s all right, to desire
            another’s arms provide you where I had aspired for
Pleasure that motion of words to continue without the
sweet sweaty
      and what matters the sweetness when we never even

By Daniel J. Bishop

Copyright © 1994, 1997, 2008, and 2011 Daniel J. Bishop
All Rights Reserved

This poem first appeared in Pandora's Box (ed. Mellissa Last) in the Fall 1994 issue.  It was scheduled to appear in a "Best Of" issue of Pandora's Box, which, as far as I am aware, never came to pass.  It was reprinted in the Sangreal Limited Edition chapbook.

The poem is about the nature of Internet/computer bulletin board relationships.  Naturally, times have changed since it was written, and the computer can now supply far more than a monochrome amber experience!  And we can share more than mere words, instantaneously, across the aether.  We still have the cursor for chatrooms and instant messaging, though, and I think that the general gist of the poem remains true.  

What matters the sweetness when we never even met?

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