Friday, June 10, 2011

Friday Love Poem: Kevin Hageman!


There are shockwaves in the strings of my jawbone
from where you captured all my electrons. Tightly-bound
like a dynamo spinning smoke rings into coronal loops.
I lit your last cigarette with my wishbone, a star cluster
of smiles; I’m solar sailing: outer space kissing your lips back,
words to the birth of the moon; I love you past Mars.
I love your past.

In the vacuum of outer space, everything moves towards nothingness;
but what happens when a wandering star collides with a celestial body?
The angular momentum of a supernova evolution is the subsequent history
of binary stars eclipsing the sun; a magnetic reconnection with beauty
invisible to the human eye. A rogue planet balancing Libra’s scales,
meteoric heartstrings, to handshake the moon. My skeleton lifting
into a winged messenger built solar flares out of your earthquakes.

Your body was a gravitational slingshot as we left the dark side of the planet
on Pegasus’ wings, forgetting about ocean tides and the lengthening of days.
My tongue spiraling nimbus, climbing wind-chime past differentiated bodies,
melted your ice giant into flowing lunar oceans, filled your impact craters
with moon rocks, straight past the Tower of Babel, passing comets to your central fire.
You called me astronaut, and I told you how your inner space was a masterpiece.

Our bodies reaching in more directions than a cat’s cradle skipped right past the altar;
we hopped into a chariot, played follow the leader with an archer landing face-up
on Jupiter – its rings were our hula-hoops. We were a pair of compasses southern-crossing
the sky, Gemini’s telescope illuminated by red light, green light between war and love.
Lost in space, we skipped moon rocks across star fields from asteroid to exoplanet.
We took time to hide from an anticyclone dust storm as a pendulum clock synchronized
into the sculptor’s chisel, pausing on Mercury to play flashlight tag, “You’re it.”
“You’re it.” Whether eclipse or equinox,
every planet has seasons, eternal peaks of light, depending upon how its axis tilts.
With proper motion, bone is shoulder blade becoming wingspan becoming planet-
hopping Icarus loosening Orion’s belt after we midnight swallowed all that moonshine.
On a bed of plasma sheets, we fucked Pluto back into a planet, named the sun Helios again.
We were neon phoenixes burning across the sky; Aquarius offered water to cool us down
but I was bearing stars as gifts, the way gravity holds more than just planets in space:
you lifted my bones electric sunbeam, colored me thunder-struck, lightning bolt, earth-bound;

Now I’m still blue static busy moon-gazing at our footprints on the sun. Can you love me past this?

Kevin Hageman is a wanderlust poet and agnostic Buddhist. He believes in the verity of the human spirit, empathy, collaboration, and redemption. He loves performance poetry and can write a nasty villanelle or a sexy sestina. If you wanna know more follow him on twitter @Kevslams.

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