only the best

In the slaughterhouse of love
they kill only the best,
none of the weak or deformed.

Do not run away from this dying.
Whoever is not killed for love is dead meat.

Rumi

Excerpts from Shane Koyczan's "Apology"

When you've got no time to save anyone but yourself you better believe
you're worth it and you are worth the time it takes to take the time to get to know you.
We've managed to muddle through the awkward stages of "I like you" and "do you like me"
and when we both said yes life became a multiple choice test; not knowing anything,
we became each others best guess. And holding your hand is less like exploration and more like discovery.
Lady, I don't have to study you to be sure you were the choice I made before
I knew what the other choices were.

and

I also want amnesia so I can relive each kiss with a perfect newness
that leaves me smashed in the arms of rapture. I want the sky to fracture under
the impossible weight of an apology because I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I want so much.
I'm sorry that I'm using "I'm sorry" as a crutch to lean on for so long
but if you sing me that song of sweet logic again then I promise to make the effort
to stand on my own. There is a reason that our hearts are more like a muscle
and less like a bone. I've known so many people who've have grown up flexing
in front of mirrors and falling for their own reflection as if that's adequate but that's bullshit.
Because we only get now until the time we go and if they've only got time to love themselves
then nobody is going to be around to hear the sound of their heartbeat echo.
So lady, don't expect an apology when I tell you I'm only held together
by a heart that pumps blue, it's the strongest muscle in my body and I'm flexing it for you.

the beginning of things

Tonight, we make up our own legends.
As we go along we discover
Buried treasure. Why, when


Touched, does skin raise rows
Of budding flowers, a castle,
Lightning shows? Did you hear
Of the two lovers too entwined
They made the gods so jealous
They had to spend their entire lives
Aching for each other, one turned
Into a rock, the other a bay?
Only, for a few minutes each day
With the tide could they, with rage
And mad laughter, embrace. And so
I recall their tragedy in the midst
Of our pleasure, taking even more
Time to name and rename the sudden
Dip between the waist and hip,
The regions where lips rest most
At home. I conjure up a full
Moon, chant a forbidden word
Three times, and stir in our
Bed, a pool in whose clear water
I see our future. Kingdom
Of locked limbs, shared breath.
The answers now come flying
Like a winged horse or gold coins
Spilling from a magic purse.
Barefoot, I dance through fire.
I tower over trees. And I bring
To you, still smoking and warm,
The beggar hands of a goddess.


by Fatima Lim-Wilson

el amenazado

Es el amor. Tendré que ocultarme o huir.

Crecen los muros de su cárcel, como en un sueño atroz. La
hermosa máscara ha cambiado, pero como siempre es la única.
¿De qué me servirán mis talismanes: el ejercicio de las letras,
la vaga erudición el aprendizaje de las palabras que usó
el áspero Norte para cantar sus mares y sus espadas, la serena amistad,
las galerías de la Biblioteca, las cosas comunes, los hábitos, el joven
amor de mi madre, la sombra militar de mis muertos, la noche
intemporal, el sabor del sueño?
Estar contigo o no estar contigo, es la medida de mi tiempo.
Ya el cántaro se quiebra sobre la fuente, ya el hombre se levanta a la voz
del ave, ya se han oscurecido los que miran por la ventana, pero la
sombra no ha traído la paz.
Es ya lo se, el amor: la ansiedad y el alivio de oír tu voz, la espera y la
espera y la memoria, el horror de vivir en lo sucesivo.
Es el amor con sus mitologías, con su pequeñas magias inútiles.
Hay una esquina por la que no me atrevo a pasar.
Ya los ejércitos que cercan, las hordas.
(Esta habitación es irreal; ella no la ha visto.)
El nombre de una mujer me delata.
Me duele una mujer en todo el cuerpo.

Jorge Luis Borges

if

If you bring forth what is within you,
what is within you will save you.
If you do not bring forth what is within you,
what is within you will destroy you.

Gospel of Thomas

Sunday

The mint bed is in
bloom: lavender haze
day. The grass is
more than green and
throws up sharp and
cutting lights to
slice through the
plane tree leaves. And
on the cloudless blue
I scribble your name.

James Schuyler