'Safe Sex' and Other Poetry by David Yancey

Safe Sex
(this is partially inspired by Donald Hall's poem of the same name)

if she does not
look back
there will be no
pillar of salt
to mine regret from

if she does not
wear white
while executing
the killing stroke
everything will be alright

if he does not
close his eyes
while they kiss

if he does not
ask her to
move in

this will be a one night stand
this will be safe sex
they won't even need
to touch skin

if she does not know her mythology if she does not
ask for psychology

if she does not
respond to his physiology

then maybe...
this will be safe sex
without touching skin

Inspired by Utah

The City of Salt
It's a hazy night in the City of Salt
Yes, I live in Sodom
I live in Gomorrha
I tried to write you into
the Library of Alexandria
but it seems I failed
as the rain stole the clouds
and all I was left was the night
with no pen with which to write

It's a strange night here in the City of Light
where who wouldn't pray at
the Temple they had made
burn them down to the sad stones
and see what you find, are they strange inside?
what you could call love
relax the rules of
leaving us to the darkend place
where lightening becomes us

Whose Zion?
To think they'd let you sleep
for longer then you need
so you wake up tired
always trying to go back
and find your head above the board
now it seems the bags should have room
for you to carry yourself in
bring them aboard the train
and watch the falling rain
along this darkhighway you follow
there's no way for Jesus to find you
as you cower in your disguise

how do you know this is your Zion?
did your greatgrandfather walk a thousand miles
just to fall asleep without a coffin
and break the morning with his bones
just like you, all alone, alone, alone

in the light of civil discourse
you shone like a blank kalidoscope
making an appeal to hearts
but not playing cards
how comfortable is your opinion
as you trade your love for thinking
about the many times you had
a chance to change the world
how much do you know about love?
something else you've never
admitted the existance of

how do you know this is your Zion?
was your greatgrandfather the lion
or did you steal this land by breaking hands
or just the morning with your bones
just like you, all alone, alone, alone

Does no one else like Love?

Here I am, waiting for what I know
someone else should know, but never does
and I sometimes want to cry that
outloud I've said a thousand times
"There's no men here that I really like,
they're all more interested in sex,
and the illusion of being complex."

And the answer is silence from my friends
because I'm strange, they don't understand
that some of us are more interested in books
and the way their eyes look reflecting moonlight
on your back on the shore of the river
with red coals dying and the romantics played well
cause he knows the rules of the game too.

I have been trying to let go of this
to find another outlet to my frustration
that I'd rather like to be in love at the moment.
It's no secret to me that things aren't perfect
and love is only the very familiar, not this
singular moment where the universe stops.

So, I will try to be elusive from now on,
let no one in who doesn't attempt to pierce me
with a spear in the side as I lay down
after having been crucified without the last nail.

But, dammit, when you can't find a thing to wear
and you've never really liked your hair
and you've more then one tire about your waist to spare
and there is a shortage of people who can hold a conversation by the handle
then you really must wonder if there will ever be
a night with shining amour to conquer you
who would move cross country with you at a whim
even if it means walking or riding an old white horse
across mountains.

Comfortable Pains She who does not like to be a her
Who would have preferred different parts
To those she was given and all their trouble
To her a lady from hell
Who once was killed and now will kill
Dreamer of the thousand things we love
I would give a gift if I had any
To her first for her unhappiness
She is the second kind of love
An appreciation for unexpected things
I admire with these green eyes of mine
All her heartfelt yearnings for a different body
For, I feel the same in this body
Sometimes I wonder if we were souls
Misassigned to these frail frames
Neither of us really want
And now that we’ve arrived
How, God, could we change
These comfortable things
And comfortable pains

David Yancey's Index Page
The Library
Library Map
Home