Category: Daphne Gottlieb

Daphne Gottlieb

As she bends for a Kleenex in the dark, I am thinking of other girls: the girl I loved who fell in love with a lion–she lost her head over it–we just necked a lot; of the girl who fell in love with the tightrope, got addicted to getting high wired and nothing else was enough; all the beautiful, damaged women who have come through my life and I wonder what would have happened if I’d met them sooner, what they were like before they were so badly wounded. All this time I thought I’d been kissing, but maybe I’m always doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, kissing dead girls in hopes that the heart will start again. Where there’s breath, I’ve heard, there’s hope.

Daphne Gottlieb

This weekin live currentevents: your eyes.All power can bedangerous:Director alternating,you, socket to me.Plugged in and the gridis humming,this electricity,molecule-deep desire:particular friction, a chargestrong enough to stopa heartor start itagain; volt, re-volt–I shudder, I stutter, I startto life. I’ve got my ionyou, copper-top,so watch how youconduct yourself.Here’s today’snewsflash: a battery of rollingblackouts in California, sudden,like lightning kisses:sudden, whitehotdarkness and you’rehere, fumbling forthat small switchwith an urgent surgestrong enough to killlesser machines.Static makes hair raise,makes things cling,makes things rise likea gathering stormcharging outsideour darkened houseand here I am:tempest, pouring outmouthfullsof tsunami on the ground,I’ve got that rain-soaked kite,that drenched key.You know what it’s for,circuit-breaker, you knowhow to kiss until it’s hertz.

Daphne Gottlieb

As she bends for a Kleenex in the dark, I am thinking of other girls: the girl I loved who fell in love with a lion–she lost her head over it–we just necked a lot; of the girl who fell in love with the tightrope, got addicted to getting high wired and nothing else was enough; all the beautiful, damaged women who have come through my life and I wonder what would have happened if I’d met them sooner, what they were like before they were so badly wounded. All this time I thought I’d been kissing, but maybe I’m always doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, kissing dead girls in hopes that the heart will start again. Where there’s breath, I’ve heard, there’s hope.

Daphne Gottlieb

This weekin live currentevents: your eyes.All power can bedangerous:Director alternating,you, socket to me.Plugged in and the gridis humming,this electricity,molecule-deep desire:particular friction, a chargestrong enough to stopa heartor start itagain; volt, re-volt–I shudder, I stutter, I startto life. I’ve got my ionyou, copper-top,so watch how youconduct yourself.Here’s today’snewsflash: a battery of rollingblackouts in California, sudden,like lightning kisses:sudden, whitehotdarkness and you’rehere, fumbling forthat small switchwith an urgent surgestrong enough to killlesser machines.Static makes hair raise,makes things cling,makes things rise likea gathering stormcharging outsideour darkened houseand here I am:tempest, pouring outmouthfullsof tsunami on the ground,I’ve got that rain-soaked kite,that drenched key.You know what it’s for,circuit-breaker, you knowhow to kiss until it’s hertz.