if something is beautiful, poem by Mark Hartenbach

if some­thing is beautiful
it doesn’t have to say any­thing. it doesn’t have to matter.
it doesn’t have to work it. it doesn’t have to fit in or be
sur­round­ed by com­pli­men­ta­ry esthet­ics. if something
is beau­ti­ful the steam ris­es off its flesh & i love the way
it wets my unshaved face. it tastes like strawberries
& har­vest­ed smoke. if some­thing is beau­ti­ful i’m completely
unaware of the pas­sage of time. it nev­er los­es me with
demands or tears or poet­ry that won’t stop running
down the page & black­ens my fin­gers. if some­thing is
beau­ti­ful a mourn­ful hymn sounds like a long drawn out
ecsta­t­ic moan. if some­thing is beau­ti­ful every inch is
absolute­ly essen­tial. if some­thing is beau­ti­ful i slip my
tongue in 360 degrees clock­wise & counterclockwise,
& i listen—i don’t say a damned word.

mark hartenbach's lat­est book is "sad lul­la­bies from plan­et appalachia."