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until I read

a soft purple stone
or a newspaper,
watch the sunset
or stand on a mountain, I have nothing—
I am a wristwatch: monotone
and worse
I don’t have anything
   to say

that hasn’t been said
within a day or two.
don’t toss coins into a lake.
don’t drink wine
from a coat pocket.
don’t walk with trees that are concerned.
who have you been talking to?
tell me what they said,

Tell Me!
of all the things
that come and go
you tell time the worst—
this has to change the way
that we think about things.
No duality.
the spirit of the wind
exists,
but not separate from the wind.
there is a door that is opening
and closing ceaselessly—
and I hear the same sound
from a candle
or a crowd of people
or a car passing.

or a wristwatch.

underminer of faith,
murderer of belief,
flower of wisdom,
drain the blood
from my legs
and replace it with sawdust
from before the fever
of the ocean.

how many times in a day
do I notice
the sound of my fingers?
I sit before a candle
consumed with the ticking of a wristwatch—
not images
but the fading of images.

and then my body becomes a bag—
I like to be free of it—but
I can’t seem to separate the two!
what happens to the song
of a bird
if there is no
bird?
this is a very complicated
question
and there are many wrong answers.

   :be careful:
My wine glass is empty
and the wax of the candle
is my body melting,
beneath the flame
I am shadows
—and near proximity,
smaller than a room,
more quiet
and much closer to home.

(12.21.09)

- Chris Hamilton

(featured in the poetry forum 02.17.10)

alone time

my alone time
next to the candle
in darkness
is worth a universe
of televisions,
cocktail parties,
victories, triumphs,
recognition, acclaim,
acknowledgment,
or all the things you
sit in,
wear,
stare at,
eat,
or bow down to.
all of this disappears
when I am alone
next to the candle
in darkness.

(6.24.09)

- Chris Hamilton

(featured in the poetry forum 11.07.09)

Inside

Don’t know
what will come of all these
things, don’t know
pinwheel. I am
effervescent
and silent,
I do not radiate solitude
or stand still.
My tongue melts
and I am at liberty
to speak.
No one can say no
to this,
nowhere to stand
that you cannot hear me
I will not be painted,
by preconceptions or be subject
to textbooks,
no applause is necessary
to do with anything.

Your beloved expectation
makes me feel as though
I must force flame from my tongue
and fingertips.

Give me my room to myself
where I can be alone
next to the candle.
Bouncing a blue rubber ball
to waist height
and standing
what I can’t stand
or stand up to,
deep inside the universe
there is something
that does not go away
and cannot be distinguished
or extinguished.

Uncertainty, insincerity,
decoupling, lack of
purpose, subtle belonging,
quite traffic quiet jealousy,
and purple hatred.
Song that I cannot sing,
universe of what is not,
come to me dearly and kiss me,

tell me you love me.

The universe is not too much left of me.

8.10.09

- Chris Hamilton

(added 11.07.09)

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