My memory is spotted,
vast emptiness otherwise scattered
with traumas and pinpoints
of happiness in a dusky life,
and it weighs these the same.
I am melting; the memories
I do have war against themselves
fighting to stay submerged -
or perhaps I'm the one
pushing them back down.
Somewhere I realize,
faded into another hour of thought,
this all will exist always
but I have room in there
for new things, too.
In the center of my mind
you come in with
organizers and soft cloths
shining like headlights
coming up the driveway
I am as Icarus, struggling to attain
with wide windows and open floor plans
it falls beneath and crumbles to ash
back from the Midas touch I tremble
desire path perfectly worn among emerald
now dusty remains of potential life
it coats everything and won't come clean
so I move backward and down, a sorry Atlas,
cuddled among the shadows, the roaches,
wondering how to conquer the hills
and waiting for something to repair my wings.
It's not that I think you're barren inside
skeletal like trees in the wintertime
it's doubts and fears making their patrols
oh how I can't put it back inside my mouth
floating free for the butcher's block, your
slight and pacifistic fist clutching ways to harm me
with that indiscernible look to your eyes
hinges on somedays and maybes
where now is my house, my safe spot
my porch-rocker partner and friend
I have this hidden weight in my chest -
if it is briefly grief of what's come to pass
or a piece forever missing in the middle
I don't know - I muddle through
with scribbles in a chewed-up book
Being by myself was never an easy thing for me
my body is my temple, you're your own best friend bullshit
doesn't account for empty hours of individual hobbies
I want laughter, I want someone to share my blunders and triumphs
I worked out today and this was all I could think of
my tears blend with the sweat and either way I can't fucking see
I go to my car and know I'm about to cook another meal for one
too many dishes to justify the effort if you ask me
Lately I've been having more trouble with being just me
pill fog, feedback missing, panic at the concept of breathing
overrides any creativity I once had quieting the harsh images
I want color, I want something to make me feel the edges of life
I cooked dinner today and this was all I could think of
the oil spatters over the stovetop and either way it's a mess to clean
I wash the dishes and I wish there was a goddamn spark in my head
too many messes to justify the effort if you ask me
I dream you whisper into my flesh
the same hidden dreams I covet
a feeble thing just finding its legs
burn into me some phrase
spiral into a shared vortex
at once safe, and seen
I dream you wish into my neck
not hinging on logic and measures
allowing yourself to give abandon
burn into me some phrase
I will smolder these words
raising you from the ashes
I dream you welt into my palms
patterned rain of lips and earnest
softly spoken illogic commitments
burn into me some phrase
as I burn my candle in the middle
waiting for sleep to come again
See me, a fractured tibia; when I need most to follow
I will trip and spill all over the pavement with a splash
spreading into an irreconcilable difference of life
droplets spraying pieces of me that will never return
without a containing element I continue to leak
marrow from the bones and I will crumble soon
wasted of these shattered participations and hopes
I cannot impress enough upon you how I
rend from skin and pool into gradients
so desperate for things I can't force or predict
and am left limping with particles falling
languishing for someone to hold the procession
to bind me, cast me into a better light, maybe even
love me with enough force to set the broken bones
in stabbing the walls for release
bargaining they were born and flesh
with some right to be voiced
instead of as they are, transient
fleeting ideas that my medication-
addled mind can no longer grasp
fading through the cracks of psyche
erasing me as though by measure
of each song I used to love
I fear one day there will be nothing left
and no one to notice, anyway
discordant jazz run amok
in the prettiest of sections I thrive
on the plucky cello rhythms
lifting like laughter with horns
then the timing changes and dips
I am the one who waits
in this doldrum lull of saxophone
slowly melting a version of Baker Street
it's so hard to know the secrets
of your heart - misconceptions or
hopeful thinking in the piano,
I just play for the next set wondering
when the violins will appear
The secret is, I'm a drag
ball and chain deadweight stone anchor
grinding internal monologues
unvoiced but for lack of belonging
purgatorial couch-sitting agoraphobia
imperfect feasts, isolation in events
where once the sound of laughter dominated
It swells in echoes of music choral in minor keys
a truth of sorts the clawing of missing someone
gasping for air so slowly it's like normal breathing
heartbeat like horses' hooves useless blood pumps
without another's to accept the outcome
the turning out of a light rendering room to shadows
nothing after this rendering the sideways grief even more poignant
Felt in clutching a fabric scented like coming home
flatfooted fall the branded skin of sharp-felt desire
glaring sun-slighted eyesight it's all halos now
pocket deep the determined flame for safe keeping
a wounded warrior has returned to roost with hope
so pierce again through armor just to have an apple spill you down
Drolling artic air around the specters,
bundling into the chill of it;
whispering without sound they
may be cursing or maybe they pray
their memories held behind me like dumbbells,
ripping out joint from ball;
rend my limbs from me I'm sworn
to divide into each of their heredities
forever fragmented however I lay
I came in the name of the dead,
their bodies held behind me like trophies,
hung taut for everyone to see;
look, I have suffered,
and here is the book on it -
their skin the pages and torn
by wringing frightfully to and fro
as though distressed by their display
Take from me this rusty shine
downpouring as a battering ram
generative with suppositions
in fragments like cutting corners
volatile paralysis cunning and sleek
the hindering caper these doldrums
coursing through the bloodstream
encapsulated wretch with diamond soles
kicking in the soft spots undefended
circumspective endings unencumbered with
the freedom of ghosts passing through walls
I can pinpoint the moment it severed
that fine gossamer thread of infatuation
shivering strand of incandescent feeling
I was inches from you and the request
to remove my countenance from your space
I felt it snap then the mental line
connecting me to you
and in that space, what is left? Emptiness
of a kind, that is true; a chasm to be bridged
now with time and experiences gained together
rather than the moxy hubris of connectivity
born of simply being within proximity
I can pinpoint the moment of growth
the steel-cut dawning of awareness
watching the habitat of a man consumed
by his own obsessions tear apart pipes
and accept with aplomb flame-broiled joists
you made time for me as well
I felt it solidify
and in this space, all is here. Emptiness
is for yesterday and I understand your bridge
now that it's possible and maybe even probable
given we court with projects and activities
and decorating the air with sound
you've become
as a door in the day
lending a lighter foot
to a heavy head
spilling sunlight
to the wet sidewalk
baking the sweet smell
of rain and ocean
while I stand at
the threshold, there
patiently waiting, as
I understand the door
is you but it can also
be me
A few feet apart but for the
yawning of changing habits
(something you can neither
understand nor forget
imbues the world with meaning
shaking like a secret
begging to come out)
learning to do things like
plumb, exist, love
All of what I could write
is private to me
now
for now
held close like a bird
about to take wing
so, no; I can't
just write
like these fickle words
could entertain
justice
to it;
you
me
I had a dream where I would
die young, mind misled
in the flurry of elementary
reading awards
to brilliance when in fact
average at best,
narrowed and chewed
spirit if you've got one
startle easy for
you're almost going to be
older than she ever was
If space is nothing but undulating ebony
another Waiting for Godot theme
bleeding into the iris
then transforming
shorter bones with heavy head
meals may never come
early hours same as late
crucial conversations never held
diminished capacity murmurs
imagined one there passes
vastness expands the pupil
cease to click the metronome
A heavy drift leans against my car
from the snow in which we're too old to play
and asks if there was some place I intended to go
mocking flakes dancing down upon the hood
spinning their way in dashing cuts across my forehead
I spill into the bully cold wet seeps into my shoes
insisting the question now with sleet and
me shaking like a secret begging to get out
My eyes come open and
somewhere in the darkness a clock ticks
at least in my memory since
who does analog anymore
I lay on my back until
my legs are too restless to stop trying to run
telling me I'll never get far enough
away or close who's to tell
I'm barefoot padding now
into the closet for a pointless change of clothes
can't change the other things
may as well cool off a bit
I only realize as I turn
off the light and close the door the voice
calling out to me is missing
asking me if everything is alright
I sit here typing as though
the sound could replace companionship
This is like when a child reaches into a rabbit's cage
something soft for all of the edges that exist out there
only to snap the hand back fiercely for fear of being bitten
when the rabbit turns its head suddenly;
the rabbit, nonplussed, simply chews its coat.
Lack of sleep
brings back the need
to see what I can save
nothing in need
no emergency here
I persist to claw
On a road in Massachusetts there sits
an ornate bridge with low clearance
I'd have to duck my head for this
fold of marquetry shine
A bridge in Connecticut, tall and loops,
staunch walled pirates of the road
I'd tuck it cool into my purse,
glint of parqueting growth
Although it's thin it tells a good story
Shortcuts are just fine for me
Just so long they don't turn a trick on you
later on down the road
so forgive my mentioning the diaphram, its
slow and metered inhalations muscle-contracting
by centimeters at a time, like intertwined threads,
gently pulling me apart from the middle on out;
permit me the red blood cells' march within me,
little soldiers of affection coming to laze in my cheeks,
hammering center, cleaving middle - the I, defeated,
who cannot stop craning upwards for the
eraser brought to board with time as sound (nothing)
glistening center pulp heathen shine with extract
the world is empty and I challenge the meaning
so how normal to crave the silence of your kiss
