They say love makes you crazy;
I know crazy.
I know the sheer exhilaration
when you pump vodka into your
veins and run into the night like a spook, howling at the raw joy of life.
I know tears that feel like earthquakes,
the way your teeth chatter
and you can’t see your way out
of the freezer. The bright,
bitter shock that hits your lungs
when on your lucky seventh
cigarette, you realize that you’ve lit your body on fire from the inside
the flames licking your neck like
Cerberus, gazing into six holes black as pitch,
melting into Hades.
I know broken green glass and
the doors it opens - the veins
of your right arm, left wrist -
I know how that red release can be
your river Styx, carrying your mind
to a land of milk
white walls and sweetness.
when I long for your touch, stretching my skin over ninety days,
bridging the gap between us,
the gap between my hips swells.
I can’t remember the taste of sweat
on your lips or
what it felt to put my fingers in your hair - five days unwashed. I
forget your eyes - green, grey, blue.
If I could feel the heat of your
unmarred chest against my own,
would it grant me peace?
I have poured my heart
into a golden apple,
body stretched thin, arms
wide open to the sea. Sailor,
for months you’ve been lost;
now, you are battering at my rocks.
My soft-eyed Odysseus,
I have grown tired of regretting. Now, I only wish things had lasted longer.
we will take you to
museums and parks
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth
After white walled silence,
Five days without sun, fresh air
Trains in the night sing.
I don’t normally reblog anything other than quotes but this is different. It’s odd to see a picture of my own city on tumblr. This mural is on the back of the building where my mom got her hair done when I was a child. It’s blocks from where I lived this summer. I’ve parked in that lot so many times that I no longer even stop to notice the mural. I’m always in a hurry or avoiding the eyes of the wrinkled men who squat on the curb, begging for change. Somehow, I feel like I am part of the problem at hand. I, like many people my age, enjoy the benefits of the Short North while forgetting where it came from. This smacks of gentrification, of literal whitewashing. We as a city should be proud of what we’ve been able to do with an area that used to be littered with needles with no art galleries or trendy restaurants to speak of. I love Columbus and I’m proud that it’s expanding both on a local and national level but we should honor the stepping stones that got us there instead of turning them into grand staircases.
Back in the late 1980s, the newly proclaimed Short North Arts District was a doubtful prospect.The Short North had been Columbus’ skid row for decades. A few art galleries and performance spaces among the vacant storefronts, strip joints, and hard-luck bars didn’t seem like they could tip the balance.
When these big pieces of public art went in, they signaled that the area was truly changing and the blight was being rolled back.
Today (August 19, 2013), this lot will close for good and construction will begin on a new upscale hotel. These murals that helped make the Short North a desirable place will disappear forever.