Why Write | Noelle Kocot

Take the most abstract
Forms you can imagine.
Now break them down
Into tiny people,

Wrestling at arm's length
For some soup. The
Heaviness of the day
Was taken with us,

Lost as we are in
Imagination's tirade.
The partial wind blows
Over the fields. I mark

My freedom to its end,
Dance with the long-
Legged lemurs, the consonance
Astounds me! No more

Crying in this landscape,
Kiss goodbye to the flowers.
The coldness is something
I must express, as we

Go on like this for ages.
Gold covers us, no, it wrecks
Us, and we own nothing.
Call it love, call it non-

Being, call it anything,
But what it is, a scrape on
The foot of a god. Without
This joy, what can anyone

Tell us? The tiny people
Are united in song, the
Tennis courts jump with
Ample pleasure. If I were

To fly out of my body
Into some other realm,
Would I be able to buy
What I need in terms

Of my latent sense of smell?
With the heaviness of shadows,
Spring will return, will not be included
In books we know

About. A kiss will be
The last thing we think of
When we join the ruptures
And the upturns

Of the present phase of
The moon. Slippery as
The night is, we still want it,
So as to balance out the days

Where we were colder
Than the lunar knife that
Sliced us. Drama is something
We think about, but then

Merely dismiss through
The disgruntled music
Of our broken hands.
We have already won,

Will sluice through
The never-ending portals
Of another time and place.
Reading the dictionary

At fifteen is one thing,
But it is quite another to
Express the gone-ness of
A peasant's breath. And

What will you do, if you
See a monster under your
Bed, and it turns out to
Be a headlong dive into

Life's golden trials? We
Are generally happy that
We exist, and we write
Poems to celebrate sometimes.

But I can tell you, this
Exquisite solitude is shared.
Some go on to the prancing
Air alone. The piano thrums

In the background. Nothing
Costs anything anymore
Where the other one is.
Bare-breasted I write,

And I give it all to you,
Sweet nothingness, a golden
Circle around tape that marked
Where you lay. The music

Thrums harder now, and I can't
Hear my own rhythms,
But that's okay, the life
Flows through me like a sea.

Resentments fly away like
Ornate gold birds. We will
Never reach the themes that
Have their grip on us. The day

Is darkening now, and words
Cannot express it. I will make
Some tea for you and me. But
Who is you? Dear reader,

I am oppressed by your thoughts,
By your reading into it all.
Without help, it is too much
For us. And so I will help you,

I will tie your shoe, in the last
Breath of darkened air. Go
Where you will. I give you
Something to take with you

On your trail into the forest.
We have mated in a way,
And now we walk separately
Into the flashing air.

(The Volta | They Will Sew The Blue Sail | Bio)