We Are Accidents In Spite of Our Designs

by Jefferson Hansen

where do i touch you when
    i mean it
         or when i mean to do it
where do you come to me in your honesty
     or must i forget
         to realize it
troubling our way
     down a hall
          in a part of the house yet to be built
      but present on blueprints
   wet and weighty
where we go as we always do
     into the bustle of future
           excavations
    and excoriations

what is the current vapor of your face

could i guess the relevance of the distant tremor
   reported on the tv
        to the twitch in your eyebrow
flesh pours beyond the mask
    which covers so often
         the wrong part of our face
              leaving exposed the most vindictive
         the ugliest
   the raw
your glance locks up with my mouth
      receiving it 

             and i happen to talk the game of your relations
          of your deepest
       seismic shifts
we are accidents in spite of our designs
       placing parties of words
              pulsing in the empty portion of the others' vessels
         spinning wild flames
      in and out of the markings