Might Even
So tragic, so early. If'n
my plans hadn't gone to pot
I might have the nerve to
watch the trees bare naked
in the winter wind. You know
how the day escapes especially
when you haven't got anything
to do. Knowing that you loved
me, I'm inured to the tragic
fuse, a hand running through
your hair, sweet suede carapace
of the perfect hour I let escape
me. That's just living, grace.
I decided a long time ago
I didn't want to be here. Yet
the fire burns in us all, yet the
Hamlet-ian paradox haunts
this beggar for soup and soul.
To make meaning from some
thing. To make a kind of lovely
art of falling apart. It's all so
cute until the ambulance bill
arrives: insurance covered it
this time, I want to scream like
no one can hear me. You say
something loving, my neck
stands up higher than any
dope, the last of the fools,
growing all the time, wrecked
on nerve pills, the wasted hours
seem so important. I never
hesitated to throw myself
over the first story balcony.
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Born of a Little Lie
Dreamers, we never learn,
the sunlight pours into
the blackout curtains,
there's a whole world
outside of me, outside
these four walls.
Too late for opuses
& dandelion wishes,
what I'd settle for is
you in a sundress.
Little white daisies
line the window pane.
Killer silence on the phone
like a window into pain.
The dark decks below
my feet stink of shit
& too many circles.
You run back into the
grocery store for miso
& forgiveness from someone.
You were just a laugh, just
a cry, just a spaceship, something
I couldn't quite place my finger on.
I place my face against the
glassdoor. Make cute little
phrases out of my breath.
The best it could do.
I make the sign of sex
& laugh as I walk out the door.
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Dawn
And everytime I let you in, I couldn't
see what you really meant. A small
jacket, that quiet smile, the simplest
of gestures saying I am witness of
pasts and stars and dreams of the
left behind. I was so worried, I was
so worried about this tiny thing I
call my heart. Worried about my
words. Worried about my pants.
One can't see through the worry.
What a fool who doesn't know he
is a fool. The mankind experiment
demonstrated through masculinity.
A collective sigh through the room.
Cat scratches across my hand and
I can't say I care too much. N64
graphics and the most beautiful
mushroom matcha latte I ever had.
When blind is blind, you can't really
trust your hands, they feel what they
want to feel. I've done perfect, I've
done magnificent, I've done myself in.
Stay forever on this nightmare
sustenance, when will the suspension
end or become a newfound flag.
I have worked out nothing new
in my head except for the place
I want to be. Real friendship
means telling truths. Real friendship
means showing up even when it's
black smoke and tears. I've been
afraid of fucking up my whole life.
As a result, I've been fucking up
this whole life time. Grab a glass,
fill it up, water only, I'm sober now.
It'll be okay when the sun rises again.
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Crucifix
The more I learn, the less
I know about how the world
turns into dust from gold,
and vice-versa. To be closer
to the only thing that holds
the valence is valued in
absentia, in retrograde.
Winter snuggles & the warm
blanket shines bright when
there is only this weary mind
to contemplate this holy dark
mess it has made. Driven numb
by the thousand cuts, the deepest
one still lingers hard to see apart
from me. At once I knew that
I knew nothing. There's just these
hands and these words and these
poor eyes what sights they have
seen. You are in marigolds, you
hover about the glade, little tip
toes through the garden tulips.
Corresponds to Calvary. To act
insane is only sane. Across the
creek of my childhood, there's
magnolia leaves crunching &
my father smiling as he sips his
Diet Coke, smelling of two cycle
and sweat and Sunday. I reach
to touch him but a pane of glass
blocks my grip. I am pounding
against the barrier again, begging
to be let in. The apostrophe's a
missing link to holding on to what
may be gone. Late on the lake,
the highway man steals the boat.
Takes me out to drown but the
moon is high & loud & brings the
sign of healing, of seeing, of truth.
Pick up the plank, carry water.
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End of Fugue
If you can't wait until the morning,
I'll be there with breakfast and burned
toast. Corded electromagnets with
grooved ends wrap around the baluster
trimmed with holly and green plastic.
How many times did we forget to
remember to grieve our lost kids,
ourselves. No need to say it out
loud. The iron view says that it's
already over. A radio for a racket,
squealing into the night. My pray
game looks like the Lakers as of
late. Somewhere between the
old and new, a figment of my
imagination. A figure you make
into my mind. The rivulets spanning
every space and time swing into
the present. I'm the kind of cracker
who begs for your feet just to wash
them. Lord forgive them they
know exactly what they do. Run
away trains and music videos from
the 90s. I remember the last sweet
thing I said to myself in my sleep:
it's okay boy now you can wake up.
The nightmare is over, the night
has passed, here is the light,
here is the stove by which
you must warm your hands.
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Ring Tone
Still alive from you and you.
From forests to the sun, god
knows we're a little lost. Big
ground to break untidy it seems
even though the reward lays
thick like a carpet, under fog,
layered in time and pain.
Who knows who you'll be?
You. The everlasting symbol
of hope, renewed faith, ON GOD,
they say in the churches. Whether
lilacs last bloomed or the butcher
sharpens his knives for yours most
truly divine appetite. Whetted. Little
white lies are what I told myself
about me. Someone told me once
"there's no one to be, there's nothing
to do". Much ado about nothing,
no thing but being. Call me when you
can, if you can. I'll pick up the phone.
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Front Street Spread
Circumstances and death
collapsing. Eager beaver seems
on deer sunglasses. Headlights
flash & circles stashing colored
memory as if a disaster.
You held your hand out like
a friend and I forgot what this
looked like. Latchkey kids &
the trouble never catches up
to the real threat inside me.
How many words, how many
likenesses, sweet oblivion of
the altruistic wizard. He's got
on his disguise; a wig with his
name on it. Your eyes trace
the outline, sighing. Smells
like the person he wants every
one to believe exists. You can't
seem to shut it down. Brown
floods every weekend. And it's
always weekend. Take awhile
to settle this pain: conquering
reason with all the sides of
consideration. Temptation is
wanting to make everything
all right. Nothing is alright.
Everything's fine. Go to sleep
now child, the fire is set
already. The wind will blow
and set all things right.
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All The Light That Cannot Be Named
A paw print near your neck.
I can imagine how it feels
to touch your skin with my lips.
I once dreamed of what I got.
I once let go of what I dreamed.
If dental floss were rope,
could I pull you from the bathroom
into my arms at last?
Not because I am impatient but
simply I just can't wait until
I see you smile again.
With or without me,
the tide rolls on.
There is a bad
moon on the rise.
The song says so.
I am daft and truly
a wanna-be punk.
Rebellious for the sight
of your small demeanor,
tender, incredible,
powerful, bright.
I am like the moon
begging for your shine.
Once every few weeks
would be enough
for me.
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A Hex on Words
The treasure I never kept. Ok,
yes, let's be together as long
as it is healthy for us. But if
you are my home, where do
I go when the winds blow
an icy sheet across my back?
I will never know the depth of
your painlovebeauty quintessence
of torn apart words. If I am waving
in the breeze, you are my trunk
that holds me to shore. I dream of
having the right words to say,
of knowing what you're thinking,
of holding you like I did the first
time we said the four letter word.
Every voice that sings. I would
envelope. In time this sting
will become a gash. The passing
of time makes all things more
sincere. Well, what about
breakfast at Sisyphus's?
The dear Ophelia, tossed
in the river by her own
truth. And Hamlet,
boy dumb boy,
too eager, too uprooted.
When the leaves stop falling,
may there be peace on the river
of your life. If there is a place
for me, I will wait for you
to speak my name.
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Will You?
Said you're gonna be my broken
dream. I'll look after you if you'll
look after me. I've been the careless
one. If you'd only open your door
just this one last time. I would never
forget how much I've fallen down.
I know you can hear me through
your hurting heart. I can see you
with flowers in your hair. The brown
looks like mahogany, a magnolia,
between the leaves. I've left behind
a million lives. I can't seem to win
for having lost. There's not much
I have offer except this small marble
in my chest. Can you read my
mind? Can you read my heart?
He said, baby, I don't have a lot
but you can have my soul. That's
about all I have left to give. You
might as well say you do already do.
Already born again from a death
enormous and chugging, will I ever
learn to swim? If I can hold your
hand, I will. Standing on the edge
of goodbye, I can't fathom your
pain. What I've done, what patience
I have tried. Photos of you circle
my mind. A crown of thorns all
throughout my body. My cup
runs over with memory and an
endless love. I won't let go.
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Sunset / Midnight
When pleasure has lost its purpose,
the doomscrolling has found all solution,
my little red cardinal still sits on a branch.
Weathered, broken but still in tact.
My little sparrow far away from reach,
the news from the truth is that I ever
loved you even if it escaped a drift.
Until the worst is over. I am handcuffed
to the alabaster chair, shiny and bright.
How much money can buy the right
to speak alive? More like fancy tricks
from the liars mouth that says I must
fall down eventually. Gap jacket looks
like a punk silhouette skeleton that perils
the thought. Of wishing you were with
somebody that you're already not.
A little lost but found. A little ghost
from the deep underground. When
roots grow up from the depths, I'll
hold my head up high that I did not
die. Love looks like letting go when
your arms have been covered in
scars and time. They say, never,
they say, goodbye, they say,
hello to forever I am home.
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Walking
When you brought black flowers
to my birthday party, I lost my liquor.
Time to go, time to show, time to
be everything I always wanted to be.
In the presence of another. Be seen,
this shame rolls off like rain from
yellow jackets stinging my conscience
every foolish word that escaped me.
You have your hope and your powers.
Symmetry of rings, stones, holes in
your pockets where the divine follows.
Trail of breadcrumbs but reversed
course, as my life, as my meaning,
where any faith becomes grounded.
Make shift vegan charcuterie, breakers
left to the wind. Eyes to the dirt where
our grasp cannot escape we. Only feels
too heavy to lift. Alone, it is impossible,
together, there's the potential for drowning.
Water from heavy weather, flood damage
looming, shit water and desire, blocks
me up from what really counts. Each
day, each hour of freedom, unburdened
by duties and trying to be frugal in our
ways. Even though the Amazon click
is so near. Capsized by a look, a glance.
When you acknowledged a text, I felt
like I existed again. Over here, in the pit,
I am biding my time. Darkness isn't bad
unless you decide you must see. There's
nothing worse than unknowns: mystery
bank statements, unanswered calls, my
mind state on a Tuesday, when this party
will wind down, when this stain will wash
out. Lost in the dreams, it's hard to tell
which way is up. I watched you pick up
your bag and keep on walking. I'm just
following suit. I don't mind, I don't want
anything but to follow beautiful foot steps.
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Chansons de Nuit
When upon darkness leaps, find
my cane and rap the pole to wake
the thing that won't be named.
(self consciousness) Quarter sized
chunks of ice and so abused by
the powers that be in clean living,
unclean, unborn, made to glow under
the light of the full moon. Doing rituals
are we? When we are connected as
neighbors the snow melts into vanilla
dreams, apples of my eye, you are
there before me: in trifold, triplicate,
unblemished. The bright of the
morning held in perfect sequence
above the world's lamenting
treetops, driven to grace by
necessity, driven to grace by
this calamity of living, the ode
goes on and on and on it goes.
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Describe Something New You've Learned About Yourself
The wind through the leaves sounds like paper
cups. An unfolded note is less exciting than one
folded. A traveler of time and space, the clocks
look like faces that mock and steal the joy of
revelation. I don't like people who don't follow
directions. There's no denying that the sun will
rise again tomorrow. Also, me too. Raped by the
addiction, echoes into the damp cool earth.
As I seek some loud familiar voice that isn't
hidden in black soot and quicksand. Instant
masters of subtle grace, more will be revealed.
I like to be alone because then I don't have
to talk. Or listen so much. Come find me
on skinned knees. Like so many before that
tasted the grass, wet with water, hot with
heat, bitter symphony of cardinals pecking,
pecking at the window. Courtesans &
calumny are on brand.
I wish it were otherwise.
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Come & Go
You came unseen, undoubtedly,
from an awful scene, what's inside
Eurydice, you can't even see, what
love says is eternally. A binding
meant to hit the ground, to fall
for free, to measure this time
bound self-revelation: hands
in hands. Like little mittens,
dropped from the playground
monkey bar, like little heaven
peaking through the clouds,
your face on a dark day.
Don't worry about the debt.
The flying horseshit they
manufacture in the gilded
age. A reflection of what truth
tells us matter: a gesture, a look,
a man gobbled up by insecurity,
a woman who found her strength
alone in death. The song plays on
and the boy cannot stay long.
Here's where a line is drawn,
here's where the hooting comes
down to mute whispers. This fat
belly I have become will rot off
into great spirals of confetti and
sunshine. At least that's what
we're praying for. Every night.
Bring the balloons, we have
enough clowns. And yet,
there she is among the robbers,
the thieves, the horse-faced
liars. Waiting, absolving,
unsure, unseen by anyone
except by him, except
by him.
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Mottled Knees
If time could heal all wounds,
messianic shot clock spirals
would be in your pretty little
palms of oak trees & less
speed if you don't want to
slow down the world will
oblige a bedside mirror
quite frankly made
of dust. If only you
knew how you looked
in the shade. Forgotten
doorbells on the ceiling
looking down on the best
rest of us. Oaths for the
trappers and the keepers
of faith, lonesome sun
that spins in place
rabbits running
the best is yet to come.
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Hope
In Cambridge, it happens again.
On the brink of collapse, but
the books are in the library,
cleaned with a vacuum like money.
I am not myself even when
I am too much with myself.
Especially. The black man
from New York is talking
about stocks and tires.
He is much smarter than
me. Bless his children
without alcoholism, or
rather lifted up into the
light reflected through
empty bottles lining
dirty windowsills.
Good night moon, they
say. The noise machine
talks to me, shows me
my guilt, repeats incessantly:
direction. Direction. Direction.
Direction. It follows. He follows.
To where?
Somewhere better,
I hope.
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