Did I ever show you this poem?

I wrote it while you were at Colby. I'm going through some old work, trying to cut it up into little 'chap books'. I'm not sure if the formatting will hold in the transference, so feel free to supply your own meaningful pauses..

Grasping at Straws

Your droll intonation –
the words leaking out
somewhere along the aqueduct
of wires, through the splayed fingers
of metal mesh towers
(this age of Aquarius),
blue sparks splashing upon the Maine Turnpike
-- thrilled me: becomes you.

Or is it that what I hear in your voice
becomes me:
distant,
unfocused,
ungrounded;
making up with enthusiasm
for a lack of clarity?

I want you to be enthused:
infused with an other’s
electrons: steel plated;
charged;
electrostatically
immune to rust
or mere invention.

I want for there always to be
for you, an undercurrent:
nevermind how pure the waters;
nevermind how swift the stream;
nevermind how insistent the babbling;
there to always exist the possibility
of your own voice, flashing scales
on the concrete ladder; crashing
against the out rushing tide;
instinct above all reason.

This despite my present confines.
This drafted on a pad usually reserved for notes to the second shift:
straighten up the stationery;
price-check the new jewelry;
remove all poetry from the counter,
all algae from the glass