A Particular Heat
to me you are a particular heat
not a matadorian red, like i like
that inspires rage, and oil paintings
of defined pulse and musculature
not like the fantasy of havana night sweat,
extemporized by chicago’s winter pavements,
where wild, severed horse hooves
conquer the “cha-cha-cha”
certainly not the panic of 1871 in the very same city
panic induced by the angels of destruction
dressed in the warm half of the rainbow, later,
advertised as rebirth, and sold at half the price,
in the merchandise mart, city of its own.
your heat is closer to muffled radioactivity
that lives between keyboard keys,
that have spent too many nights awake
and for what? videos of life sized lizards,
virtual coffee dates with high school sweethearts,
but mostly animated wrestling
more like heat like static, hot from hair follicles
rupturing romance with nylon balloon friction:
healthy, strong, lively — but not too lively,
like the hypochondriac’s bedtime prayer.
heat like television static that kisses flesh goodnight,
leaving mellow glow and a sitcom sort of satisfaction,
which is to say, just really super fine, and familiar,
the way the world would be, garnished in taupe.
to you, i am something like sand
a grain or a beach, depending on the angle and the day
towards you i am tender, molding, consequentially,
to the groove of your print: a maze of which i could conquer, easily.
to which you say,
“get over yourself,” which is just code
written in a language of our neuroses,
that translates to sanity, for us both
to which i say,
meet me in private,
when i sift downwards, inevitably, clumsily,
mass of flammable materials, bones
behind Chicago’s skeleton, of 1871.
Sarah Lisovich is a recent graduate from Beloit College, and current Chicago based artist and writer, exploring the grooves of the city. Endlessly inspired by the tenderness of Pablo Neruda, and surreality of Rene Magritte, the new artist is on the hunt to craft and create her heart out.
Crossposted with Queen Bitch.