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“I still dream of the taste of you,
musty-sweet as a rare book,
field smoke brushing a night train.
Kisses mouth of pink oasis, fruitful
and whiptorn, carved from rose stone.
Quick and sure, like a thumbprint, your love for me.
— Jan Richman, from “I Still Dream of the Taste of You,” Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
musty-sweet as a rare book,
field smoke brushing a night train.
Kisses mouth of pink oasis, fruitful
and whiptorn, carved from rose stone.
Quick and sure, like a thumbprint, your love for me.
— Jan Richman, from “I Still Dream of the Taste of You,” Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
“The sunlight from the east rises at your thighs and cuts / the eyes from your face. Your legs lie like shadows on the bottom of a forest, keeping their collected / secrets, burying their swollen names. I’ll touch / your legs. Don’t move. I’ll slide up your skin / like a slow boat fights an iron current. / I’ll navigate toward light, my fingertips burning / in the new world, — Jan Richman, from “Don’t Move,” Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
“Don't Move"
Don’t move. Don’t move at all. Let me do this.
Tomorrow you can wheel your bones along the edge
of time’s illustrious curves. Next week you can make
your deliveries, manhandle your offerings, perform
your acts of contrition. Mold your vessel. Drop
your footsteps like fireflies into the void.
But now, notice your torso in flames.
The sunlight from the east rises at your thighs and cuts
the eyes from your face. Your legs lie like shadows
on the bottom of a forest, keeping their collected
secrets, burying their swollen names. I’ll touch
your legs. Don’t move. I’ll slide up your skin
like a slow boat fights an iron current.
I’ll navigate toward light, my fingertips burning
in the new world, and capsize
in the hottest part of you.
Can you hold the sunken treasure – garlands of rubies
choking your worded thoughts? Can you hold up?
Can you fight? Can you fight the urge to run?
— Jan Richman, Because the Brain Can Be Talked into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
Don’t move. Don’t move at all. Let me do this.
Tomorrow you can wheel your bones along the edge
of time’s illustrious curves. Next week you can make
your deliveries, manhandle your offerings, perform
your acts of contrition. Mold your vessel. Drop
your footsteps like fireflies into the void.
But now, notice your torso in flames.
The sunlight from the east rises at your thighs and cuts
the eyes from your face. Your legs lie like shadows
on the bottom of a forest, keeping their collected
secrets, burying their swollen names. I’ll touch
your legs. Don’t move. I’ll slide up your skin
like a slow boat fights an iron current.
I’ll navigate toward light, my fingertips burning
in the new world, and capsize
in the hottest part of you.
Can you hold the sunken treasure – garlands of rubies
choking your worded thoughts? Can you hold up?
Can you fight? Can you fight the urge to run?
— Jan Richman, Because the Brain Can Be Talked into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
“I thought being in love
was talking someone down a bad trip. And it’s true.
Now we never step into each other’s metaphors,
wring out the safety, bear witness to all the deities
under the skin, and emerge plainly poisoned,
but poisonous too.
— Jan Richman, from “Drug Stories,” Because the Brain Can Be Talked into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
was talking someone down a bad trip. And it’s true.
Now we never step into each other’s metaphors,
wring out the safety, bear witness to all the deities
under the skin, and emerge plainly poisoned,
but poisonous too.
— Jan Richman, from “Drug Stories,” Because the Brain Can Be Talked into Anything (Louisiana State University Press, 1995)”
― Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into Anything: Poems
