Friday, May 14, 2010

Weight Upon A Metal Chair
for D.B.A. & Amanda Schmid

who can tell which is my favorite
is this my favorite I am standing before
writing before, writing about

just walked from my house on Kemp Road to
Popop in Chippingham

hot, sweating, heart beating, blood racing,
that was a walk, a gallop from down town

stopped at the ATM, made a quick deposit
realized thereafter that it was 8:25, little time left
for exhibit if it ends at 9 p.m.

here now after racing with horses
got here at 8:44 p.m., wonderful, worth it

these Heino Schmid remarks, images he makes

way to go, way to disguise, to make a mask of
make a mask for who might wish disguise

and to be displayed at once

wish to be splayed, sprawled out in a room,
in a comfortable chair
without a stitch to wear

I here now, able to relax now
talk to me, I talk to you
conversation, us two

told you you're with me everywhere
magical relationship

magical realism we've made of love
you've made of my life

not going to waste this blood racing
horse out of the gates

in my heart galloping
through my arteries and veins

not in vain have I walked here from west hell
from somewhere to somewhere
from no where to no where

what distances in love, exist in love
do you go and you come
do you come and you go
do you end where you start

is it circle you are on, circle you are in
or in a tin or a box, in a basket or a bucket

whatever buck up goes
does it matter or must you get it right or left
or right or wrong

he rub out what he draw
gives us, sells us what's left

you have to say no to purchasing
however irresistible the piece,
is the piece, is the peace

you have to say no to the man in the boat
however much it pulses, pitches
to be touched, to be tasted

I'm ready to weep again
the flood gates open,

the damn dam busted
I could submerge a city in tears entirely

inclined to weep because in love
because of the dead, of the dying

my own inevitable demise
but for now that's on hold
I want to live, I have to live

who dies while in love
unless in a Shakespeare play
unless in an opera, singing, expiring
until the curtain close

want to, with my love, doze
in my arms a decade or two
of days and nights
before I call it a day

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written Friday, May 7, 2010
between 8:44 p.m. and 9:22 p.m.


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