The telephone rings like your orgasm
Used to fool my pen into thinking
Its blood vessel was in love
With the curve of your written name
But now I am a more advanced caveman
Indicative of my erections while driving the car
Or wading into traffic with a fisherman’s
Cold-blooded benevolence flipping off the sea
Bluetoothed, bathing your bright eyed apples
You say our clothes bring us closer
But I hear the pandemic of friendship’s
Uncooperative oath maturate your syllabic repose
Which is why I suppose I don’t mind
When I snag my finger on my coiled notebook
It bleeds in a fetal position, strangely comforted
By the water in your distant hands
***
Garth Pavell
Garth Pavell lives in Brooklyn, New York where he writes poems and songs and even has a couple of rickety novels under his belt. He is currently forming a folk rock jam band, which can be listened to in its embryonic stage at http://www.myspace.com/garthpavell.
