"Will Alexander holds a bachelor's in English and Spanish, and a masters in English, and has studied at the University of Salamanca, Ave Maria College, and various programs in the SEC. He divides his time between teaching, cultural studies, acting, travel, writing, travel writing, and a variety of other avocations. He currently resides in Oxford, Mississippi with two marvelous housemates and his familiar--a beautiful white street mutt rescued by a former professor."
Have discovered some material from the aforenoted in an artifact referred to as a "Guidebook" along with some further scribblings. A bit neurotic, but interesting NTL...
Remains
More bobby pins,
More second class relics of you.
Broadcast in the bathroom,
Making noises in the vacuum.
Two mysteriously shuffle
Out of a pile of receipts on the desk.
(Not only when and where
(Not only when and where
Like saint's rags wearing something of their spark,
Each bit of brass in the bed sheets
Pricking with your absent charm.
Other Lovers
We have to be careful
Divulging our selves.
When and where matter,
Not only the to-whom.
To whom follows when,
In the way a body opens.
But also, more even than when
(Building in an ebb and larger return of:
"I-am-also..."
"Oh is-this-you?"),
Is the in-this-mood.
Which waits for that you
Who can be trusted
With this me;
That will not
Later or now
Make the saying "I"
And welcoming saying "You"—
Will not threaten
Now or later
Not compromise
The saying that has already been
And is continuing.
And maybe this is why forgive
Is a real word:
Because lacking the skill
To match saying and being
And to whom,
But in-that-mood)
With an other,
We both fail.
As when she
(That you)
Told him
(That me)
Distressed
Of a tragic
Or a simply past
"One touched me."
Different than when he
(Unregenerate)
Confessed
"I touched this one."
Memory a separate burden,
Long term yield of seasons
Of ready-to-know and already-shared
And still-becoming
With the I or You
That can't live
On reasons only,
But also the gut—
Which, in the sharing,
Won't be ignored.
And perhaps this pain
Of apparently inevitable disjunction,
And the continued saying even tainted so
Is at least one thing that we mean by love.
Digits
You see. I know how this is going to turn out.
It’s going to end with us making out
In a corner somewhere
Coming close to having sex.
(Probably having sex)
But I don’t want that.
I'm not saying anything.
But I know:
We’ll be dancing
I can’t help myself when I begin drinking.
And then we’ll be dancing.
I’ll touch you. And remember.
And feel how nice it is to touch you,
(It will be very nice to touch you)
Especially since I am sure you are
So intelligent. And attractive.
(Though I can’t certainly remember)
It will be very nice to touch you,
And feel how beautiful and, maybe,
Electric.
Sometimes.
It is so strange.
The firm movement of skin under touch.
To squeeze,
Feel the (rub) tension.
Like junior high science class:
Cornstarch, water, borax—you.
And it’s like drinking. It’s like riding a bike.
Like watching television.
It’s a zip line
And strange—
Your face is so very strong.
It’s beautiful. It’s ruddy.
Something, somewhere...
(I certainly remember something)
And your cheekbones!
We’ll be dancing.
Then I’ll be sliding along a wire.
Then we’ll be riding in a train.
(The groove is run deep)
Then I will become so mystified by your back.
(You doubtless have an amazing back)
(It will be very nice to touch you)
It will doubtlessly mystify me.
Fascinate me. Macerate me.
I become intrigued—and very passionate.
(So I am told)
I don’t believe I'm conceited.
A Peruvian girl once—
Oh never mind!
I bet I’ll discover something painful.
Oh, then it’s over.
(I become intrigued you see)
Listen, I can call you.
We could go on dates. I’ll buy you Raisinets.
(Please just don't answer that text)
