she...

she

makes me wanna write so much

that i can't find a word to begin

so i just say

"she"



she

makes me wanna tear down my walls

to find the open fields

and run towards the

light



she

makes me wanna take my world

spin it upside down

shake it inside out

collect all the change

and buy her a

ring that completes itself on end

and say

"here is my beginning

here is our end"



she

makes me wanna breathe in

and

breathe out

not caring anymore if there's a ground and

say to her

"don't groundlessness just feel so flight?"



she

makes me wanna take all my woes

turn them into mustard seeds

plant them in the earth

and wait for spring to

take

full effect

and then take what's grown and tell her

"this is faith and this one's hope"



she

makes me wanna wrap my wrists in leather and cloth

put on my red hoodie

wear my striped black and white trousers

with my soviet era brass belt buckle

and tell her

"i say trousers

not

pants"

and then stand in front of a mic

and say all the things

that

she

makes me wanna

do



she

makes me wanna wait for perfection

that ive too long been sub-parring for

and then take that perfection

and label it

"her"



she

makes me wanna sit in my home

clean the dust off the floor of my

soul

do laundry

and

write

until the day that i can say

"ive prepared this for you"

and give her my soul

all cracked clean full of light

radiant like that moment that ive seen from the window of an airplane

just before the sun is seen by those below

but we see it up above the clouds

purple - orange - and pink

shooting out like we've all just seen the colors of

the

rapture

and i know

what a beautiful day we're gonna have when

my plane touches land



she

makes me wanna put down my ways

that weigh me

down

so that i can be

pure

poetry

for

this great immaculate

"she"

who is out there

waiting

for



me.



--- kim thompson. fri. 11 march 11. seoul. s. korea