“too good for you”

 

i don’t want to feel “too good for you”
despite the things you’ve done.
i’ve never fancied love a sport,
scores tallied, lost or won.

i don’t want to feel “too good for you”
despite what i’ve been told.
for no one else could understand
our context as a whole.

i don’t want to feel “too good for you”
though sometimes, i admit
i try because it helps to make
you easier to quit.

i wish i felt “just right for you”
because i feel its true, that
we’re made less of the things we’ve done,
and more of the things we’ll do.

time travel

i have seen witness
to time travel.
       for in my dreams
she still carries
such ineffable grace.
         and my heart
still trembles
at the very thought
                          of her…

The Llama, by Ben Spaner

Written 12-1-2013, in Union Square NYC, by Ben Spaner.
Dedicated to two wanderers, and reproduced here verbatim as typed on his Brother Valiant typewriter.

 

Over fences,
Barbed Fences,
Traping llamas freedom,
No wonder they spit.

Over furry pajamas,
llamas might stack up
against a sky,
tonight,
searching for the star
in the sky,
that could only be its
true love.
Thellama.
Thespitting llama.
The furry hurrying caged in
llama.
The mamba jamba.
Of drama that ensues
When one llama
cant find what its looking for.
Its match.
A cat,
Half lizzard,
Heart attack.
Whose eye appears nigh
Slipping thru
the gates of llama prision.
Into the arms of his
llama mistriss.
Forever after

the telephone line

 

the final time we spoke
it was the telephone line,
which kept us together
long after our farewells had been uttered.

we lingered in silence
for we each feared severing that
last connection –
all that remained between us.

i waited for you to end our call.
you did the same.

empty seconds turned into minutes.
that damned telephone line
carrying nothing, yet everything.

shallow breaths, punctuated by heavy sighs…
will i ever know a more meaningful silence?

the dock

 

my dear
when we first fell in love

i thought i might make a worthy cornerstone.
set first in your foundation,
a solid base upon which could be ensured
a straight and robust construction.

to that end, i lodged myself in a firm place.
digging deep into the earth and
calcifying in my resolve to ever support you.
indeed i boasted that anything built upon
such rock would surely endure and flourish.

but how foolish was this conception?
in my haste, i had overlooked the sturdy vessel
that you had already been constructing for years.
built to withstand the open seas –
to journey to lands unknown and far away.

and so it was one day,
realizing the error of my ways
i rushed to the waterfront
just as you cast your sails into the wind.
you waved a sad and solemn goodbye.

on these shores i have since built a dock.
a structure which, unlike a cornerstone
set in its position, may rise and fall with the tides.
and which, rather than serving as a foundation
may serve simply as a refuge
from long, weary days at sea.

thus do i remain
ready should the need ever arise
to grant you safe harbor.

you couldn’t look more beautiful

 

we are tired
exhausted –
the day has come
and with its passing has stripped us bare.

we make no pretense.
no longer stand our walls – we are without will to raise them

and in this moment,
my eyes ask me if they have not been fooled.

in this moment
i am afforded a glimpse
of you
at your most you.

and i am reminded how i love you.
for you couldn’t look more beautiful than you do.

an ode to college dating

reservations, of varied sorts
7:30 eastern, two-top
and that stomach knot
…or was it a noose?

a nuisance, newly sensed
breath; checked pocket, sans mints.
evening scent – coffee and condiments.

a condom? hints of impropriety–
presumption (trumps) sobriety
good lad, practicing piety.

applied a bevy
du pommade, hair tousled.
comb &or brush
confession: never possessed.

investments in vestments
three quarters past
paid no dividends,
still less than well-dressed.

peacoat, scarf, mittens, tuque
a shot of chartreuse.
and out the door
..whew.

it is a good day.

this morning sneaked into existence
as I lay betwixt bedsheets and consciousness.

i awoke and greeted the Sun.

it is a good day.

rain.

what is it
about the rain?
which brings
pain to these joints,
serenity to this heart,
contemplation to this mind,
precision to these fingertips–

 

the [extant] i.
ensconced :: cocooned :: within a stillness

interrupted only by
the soothing white noise of drip*drop*drip*drop…

 

a piddling subterfuge toward escapism
(sometimes i am fooled.)

and yet,
if i am granted some semblance of tranquility.
who is this _______ to protest?

These streets

 

do you remember that time?
that first time we lost ourselves in the streets of boston?
it was a be-witching hour, as frosted (snow) flakes careened toward our unprotected faces, carried on a frigid wind.
we bought some real frosted flakes at cvs, the only place with warm lights and an unlatched door.

that’s not true.

but i wanted to buy some frosted flakes; and in retrospect it would’ve been so appropriate.

 

do you remember that time?
when i met you at the bus station?
you were wearing yellow.  i brought you flowers.
you had baggage.  i wheeled it behind us as we walked.

 

do you remember that time?
our chance meeting on beacon?
you looked so lovely that night.
(and i hadn’t kissed you in years.)
we stayed out past our bedtimes.

wandering
and i drove you home.

 

i know these streets, now.
they have at once become my daily routine.

but they carry such memories, too.