6 poems
by Lenska
Swimmer
once everything was tidy in here,
composed of gestures that heal,
memorialize the accidental,
make details intimate and lasting,
once everything had its place,
its hierarchy written down,
and it did not seem to be a material gag,
but it turns out that as of some time now
stillwaters of meaning run too deep to comfort me:
what does it mean to find my place and settle?
all my things are in the
it-is-not-yet-finished state,
because I am a floating figure,
floating in the shoreless waters
for such a long time.
all these significant things we look each other in the face for
searching for accord
they are never the same for us
that’ s the movement
that’ s the color
trying
​
to lean onto something
lasting while
swimming
Woman
Ardent lover
and reluctant caretaker
of idiosyncrasies of life.
Boxes of notes, clips, photographs, and drawings,
decade after decade,
no one looking-seeing-understanding, and good.
All these weeks, months, years, she is after a retainer,
an opening to change what
she collected.
What already is
she wants to maybe change,
in the unforeseeable future.
A Word for the Day
Perhaps it is time to trade mysticism for
exposure, exhibitionism, and transparency,
time to trust a raw eye,
even if it is my own pinkeye.
It is time. I am choosing to method-act
my own life today.
All that beauty and bloodshed
in my rumbling heart
want a voice. And gratification.
Meanwhile, look:
It appears that truth is tender,
but bawdy.
She sits on a rickety kitchen chair swaying,
but she sits looking directly at me.
Uncompelling Antics
You are tripping all over my soul,
without asking,
riding that big Harley of your ego
through my backcountry like it’s your place.
For a long time, I have not
put one word on paper,
unless it was a word about how you
torment me with desire.
You and your damn Harley
making rounds in my -
making all that noise in my -
Love Letters
I began with an 8 am email.
There was purpose and intention,
behind it.
If we try this at all,
we move slow,
I said.
Soon after, a note from you in my inbox
saying – that I either do how you like it
or fuck off & hurt your feelings.
Because you are beautiful.
It said you are
delicious.
Editorial on Young Actors
First line read:
These here are making this life
their own, these here in the
thumbnail photos, in this magazine.
Their bodies well prepared, ready-made for
consumption, ready to be masticated.
Ready for an undisclosed but fabulous banquet to which everyone wants a ticket.
These here cannot think that
life is a fatal wrestling match; us and life,
hefting it over a simple breath of air.
These here young ones, they are still agile.
They can make the long tumble, and the gasping for air,
their own.