I Never Really Knew
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JoeUser Forums
I really like how this poem looks in my notebook right now, makes me wish I had a scanner so you could all see the notes in the margins, the number of entire lines scribbled out, with me informing you that I haven't even begun to edit it yet...these are just the mistakes I recognized along the way. Yet, the "errors" are what I find so asthetic about it. A sense of accomplishment before I'm even quite sure whether I've accomplished anything at all. If you have a preference between the headline title or the subtitle please share it.
I never really knew how she smelled,
and that always bothered me.
So much effort did she put into masking any chance that I would lust for her scent,
or be unable to match it at every fine department store perfume counter.
The first few times I caught a whiff it was so pleasantly familiar that I suppose I did miss it,
but soon every 13-30 year old young girl and woman who passed me emitted an echo of the same manufactured smell,
so many that her scent rapidly became a nose-turning eye-stinging stench.
I never really knew how her voice sounded,
and that always bothered me.
Mimicking whatever european accent People Magazine's cover actress donned to earn her some glorified recognition suggesting that she had succeeded in a mild surpassing of mediocrity,
this happened to invade an otherwise wonderfully abrasive midwestern drawl.
So I saved no late night voicemail,
and I could never have hoped to collect a single tainted whisper I was offered.
I never really knew how she looked,
and that always bothered me.
So much effort did she put into alteration and enhancement,
that I never knew what was being altered, or what is was, that possibly needed to be enhanced.
I may have even pretended I thought it was romantic,
the first few times she insisted my lips could only receive clearance to land upon hers in the dark,
but soon I encountered the same repetitious scene,
a bedroom stage,
devoid of any light or open curtain,
starring two seemingly unconnected characters,
a display in what audience members would later describe as "the most poorly scripted embrace" they had ever witnessed.
I never knew how she felt,
and that still bothers me.
Climb trees, go out on a limb, to find me,
forget about him,
forget about hymns,
what are those songs you sing,
what are those songs that are in your echoing?
- Sage Francis
I never really knew how she smelled,
and that always bothered me.
So much effort did she put into masking any chance that I would lust for her scent,
or be unable to match it at every fine department store perfume counter.
The first few times I caught a whiff it was so pleasantly familiar that I suppose I did miss it,
but soon every 13-30 year old young girl and woman who passed me emitted an echo of the same manufactured smell,
so many that her scent rapidly became a nose-turning eye-stinging stench.
I never really knew how her voice sounded,
and that always bothered me.
Mimicking whatever european accent People Magazine's cover actress donned to earn her some glorified recognition suggesting that she had succeeded in a mild surpassing of mediocrity,
this happened to invade an otherwise wonderfully abrasive midwestern drawl.
So I saved no late night voicemail,
and I could never have hoped to collect a single tainted whisper I was offered.
I never really knew how she looked,
and that always bothered me.
So much effort did she put into alteration and enhancement,
that I never knew what was being altered, or what is was, that possibly needed to be enhanced.
I may have even pretended I thought it was romantic,
the first few times she insisted my lips could only receive clearance to land upon hers in the dark,
but soon I encountered the same repetitious scene,
a bedroom stage,
devoid of any light or open curtain,
starring two seemingly unconnected characters,
a display in what audience members would later describe as "the most poorly scripted embrace" they had ever witnessed.
I never knew how she felt,
and that still bothers me.
Climb trees, go out on a limb, to find me,
forget about him,
forget about hymns,
what are those songs you sing,
what are those songs that are in your echoing?
- Sage Francis
)
