3 Poems by BJ Love

Nov 01 2011

The Grateful Release of Our More Robust Natures


Star Wars is on TV and all we can do is go to Dairy Queen
and dare each other into new flavor combinations, our
handholding just a gateway to Oreos and backrubs and
it all tastes really rich to me, like knowing how beavers
build their dams but wanting to hear your take on it all
anyway because I have a gnawing suspicion that today
can be totally interesting on a budget, it?s true, we can?t
go to Granada, but we can go on this walk and you look
so full of facts and I have a can full of silver spray paint
dying to be more beautiful and the world is so full of bridges
that have no ideas of love so let?s hit these purple streets
and create more famous versions of ourselves on them,
after all, this is how our histories have always been made
and love can be easily retrofitted into it, over it, and though
some people are always three steps ahead, it will be me
who gets to yell, Watch out! and pull you back into my
peeling but other wise healthy arms and tell you that
having heroes is wildly important, and feel really good
about myself and then you will thankfully kiss my silver
sprayed palms and you will see your beautiful reflection
kissing you back and you will say, boop boop, in a pretty
authentic robot voice and though translation is frequently
difficult, I will have no problems understanding exactly
what you mean, exactly what you are (not a robot), because
this language is ours and it is heartbased and sometimes
we feel, a little heart is all you need, but sometimes a little
heart is hard to draw, so I?m making mine really big, big
enough to hold our whole names and it?s a rebellion, yes
but only a minor one and if we are caught, at least they?ll
print our pictures in the paper, side by side, with a caption
that will surely say something about Love, how it leaves
its mark in the most surprising and out of the way places.


Your Name = Your Job

My heart is involved in pleasure and I?ve thrown too much
of it into? the? air? to? care? where? it? lands.? This? is? my? real? art
and I?m installing it everywhere like the ocean or the things
we? believe? swim? there.? I? am? moving? toward? a? new? blue,? a
new place to keep my pictures, the last rays of sunlight that
are? bending? like? some? kind? of? arm,? like? some? kind? of
mythology.? I? have? a? feeling? that? will? unfold? in? a? beautiful


I don?t know how it works, but I have a general sense of how
it? is? made? and? it? is? like? making? you? a? promise ?with? real
working parts so that, it?s never the thing that is? broken, just
a chunk of it. I have a chest full? of? tools ready? to? fiddle with
almost? anything? and? this? is? turning? into? a? grand? and
fascinating dance of grand and turning fascinations.


Look hard at what we have here, it took years and monies to
make? sure? Einstein? was? right? about? everything? he knew? he
was? right? about,? so? what? we? are? really? after? is? relative
comfort. We take comfort. We are comforting. It?s a? strange
physics,? but? it? works.? Like? yellow? on? anything? or? that? one
time you believed in God.


This? is? the? history? of? what? we do, however mystical it may
become.? My heart is scattered everywhere? like a mess, but? it?s
this? clutter? that lets us know we are home. I am bending my
arms around you here? and finding it to be a welcoming style
of halo. A cheap fix, maybe, but with only so many holds at
our disposal, we must keep our faith in one of them, right?
Like ghosts. Like the ghosts of each other, red and wrinkled
in? our? skin.? We? can?t know? how? they? got? there,? but? on? the
nights we are alone, we?re glad to have them to hang onto.


P oint Break: A Synopsis Poem

Johnny? Utah,? you? are a? man,? with a? real? heart,? act

like? one,? says? Bohdi.? There? is? nothing? but? waves? in
the? ocean,? so? let? us? make? something? of? it.? The
differences between anxiousness and astonishment, I
fear,? are? lost? on? me,? says? Johnny.? This? is? a
relationship we? all know.? The kind? where? love is? the
only thing not hidden. The kind? where we fire? our
guns into the sky and let each other run free.

Oh, all? I? want,? says Johnny, is a? lap to lay my head in

and maybe some fingers that I can lean my eyebrows
against.? Now,? I? feel? like? I? should? warn? you,? this? is
where? the movie gets a? little? sexy.? Lovely even. Says
Bodhi to Johnny, I want to share this certain amount
of skin between us. To kiss us in all those ways we?d
never before considered kissing.? Thereby? making this
unkiss the new and most tender definition we could
hope? to? articulate.? At? least? for? today.? I? have? the
feeling,? Bodhi,? that? you? are? being? glorious,? says

Utah, get me? too,? pleads? Angelo.? Poor,? poor? Angelo,

this? is also the story of your heartbreak. The thing we
must remember, though, is that everybody dies.


The? ocean? is? no? more? than? heaven?s? reflections? of
ourselves,? says? Bodhi,? and? so,? I?m? worried? of? its?
whereabouts? lately.? Where? have? we? all gone,? Johnny
and? Bodhi? scream? together,? but ?mostly? alone.? It?s
one? thing? to? not? recognize? ourselves,? but? quite
another? to? not? even know? where? to start, where to
fix our wandering gazes. How to live a life after I love

Darling,? you? say? you? have? never? seen? Point? Break,
and, I believe you, so to the best of my recollection,
this? is what that movie is? about. Do you? see anything
beautiful in this?

After all, you seem to prefer beautiful things.


BJ Love is the author the of the chapbooks, Michigander (Greying Ghost), and the recently released, Fossil (Small Fires), in collaboration with Friedrich Kerksieck. His poems can be found elsewhere, on and off the internet, but who cares about those when you have so much more Spork to read.


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