Sincere PoemAnthony Robinson
It is difficult not to go on, but I know it must end, Know it like I know the peony and the dry heave, Feel it coming on, as if a fever, or sharply, a cramp. So much of the program is arbitrary—these lines, Arranged just so as if to appear as something more Than you’ll let them be. They belong to me And that is the problem. I want to go on and on Like the sun that Kenneth Koch wrote about but Didn’t really write about. I want to make love, Not to an idea of you, but to you, and feel like The speaker in Koch’s poem “Locks.” When I Explain the locks to you, and how each works, All the effort will stop being wasted. It seems so Simple—of course it is not. The day conspires against Us, and the night throws stars at us, keeping me Away—I’m afraid to burn; keeping you away—you’re Afraid to see me in the light. The new necessity hasn’t Reached you yet. It’s traveling quickly, though, It follows the lightning, ends with a clap or a great Boom. By then I’ll be long gone. I’ve got a plane To catch, or a wing to grab hold of, a night to destroy.
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