“Some Notes on Getting Lost” by Joel Hulseman

The blanketing, full
Silence after snowdrifts
Stop swirling, rest,
Like deserts at night
Staring, straining, seeing
Where we came from
Clearly. I used to speak
From inexperience, now
I’m sure I don’t
know. This the new science
Of staying skeptical. Still,
The smell of incense, hangs
Spicy, like well told lies.
Every culture tells tales. We
Create magic to
Fight the nightmares where
We fall awake,
Find the warm
Silky comforter or anonymous
Bodies, something
To cling desperately till
The hard morning half-light,
Mixing the shaking fear and
Pleasure, the moaning
Of prayers out to the void,
Spaces where fingers
Feel for contours,
Bony Cartographers.
The new science of counting
Freckles on your back,
Touching each possible
Cancer, tracing
To make constellations, pointing
To the day I say I
Love you, repeating it
Over, over. All words
Lose meaning if you
Repeat them enough
Times. The new science
Of falling out of love
And discovering someone
Else. I used to
Speak from inexperience,
Now I’m sure that
Left behind
Is blanketing, full
Silence. The new
Science of screaming. Emptiness
Is the growl of the unfilled,
The first hunger,
Like a first cigarette, suck,
Watch the ember brighten
Like a bruise
Left by feelings
Which come from
Making someone happy,
Finding joy
In discovering the new
Science of trying
To be positive.