JACK'S EUPHORIA///

as a child, i learned only to believe
in the philosophy of touch.
i begged my mother as i will beg you:
please do not begin to explain to me
empiricism, idealism, realism, revelation.
there is no need for explanations
of the phenomenalism of my body
discovering yours, of my fingertips
discovering dirt, of your fingertips
discovering the decline of my hips,
of my hips discovering the decline of the earth
on which three heartbeats parallel
in a kind of simple sensation.
isn’t there a kind of synchronicity
between the soil on your hands
colliding with the soil on mine?
where is there time for ambiguity?
there is no time. there is only
the simple philosophy of my skin,
and its desiring of some delirious
touch of natural ineffability.

8:07 PM on Thursday 16th February 2012 with 8 notes and Comments

tagged: poetry

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