Saturday, August 27, 2016

27

The only thing left between us now is the growing quiet 
The nothingness eating away at the spaces between the stars
I still look for you in other people 
I still l write you in the mornings
I write about you with other names
I remember the smell of your skin
I'll give you other faces
But I'll throw my words in bottles to the ocean
And they'll have to travel the currents 
West to east across every mile 
Except the thousand between you and I 

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

August 24, 2016

I still wake up with words, every day.
 At first I had to swallow them all,
 choking on them,
 feeling their rough, unchewed edges 
scraping down my throat. 
Now they wash over me 
when I open my eyes,
 and I usually let them go, 
blowing into the wind 
like a dandelion wish. 
I still house the love, 
all of the love, the endless, 
boundless, unmatched love. 
But you broke the struggle, 
the junkie in me, the desperate,
 clawing need. 
With a deep sigh, I exhale you 
when I slide between
 the worlds of dream and wakefulness.
 You silent muse, 
you thing I made with my own heart, 
dancing still in the ether like a heady,
 sweet cloud of my favorite poison. 

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Barely August 24, 2016

Can I? 
Can I just say so, love?
How everything and nothing has changed?
How you have grown into and seeped into 
And worked into every fiber and atom of my self?
First I said soul. But self is more accurate. 
How you exist in me on an atomic level
How I can feel it when you miss me
How everything goes on
But nothing does at all? 
Am I allowed?
Or should I stay silent. 
Pretending again and again 
That something else is more important 
That the gentle in and out weft of you
Within every scratch 
If you say it first
I promise to follow 
If you hold my hand
I promise I'll reach back 
If you lick my wounds 
I'll extend my own tongue 
Someone here has to not be stupid 
And someone has to decide 
Which direction stupid goes 

Sunday, August 21, 2016

August 22, 2016. Ineptitude of the Vernacular

If what I want is peace
I have to focus every shred of my being on peace 
If what I want is forgiveness, 
I have to focus every shred of my being on forgiveness 
I am not allowed anger
I am not allowed suffering 
I am not allowed to cling to this idea 
of beauty in the midst of pain. 
If what I want is not to be bound by all this
I have to focus every shred of my being on letting it go. 
It cannot exist anymore. 
An eye for an eye is not the golden rule. 
Goodbye
I love you
Let's do the most beautiful thing possible 
In an ugly world
And not destroy what we had
With what we have not. 

Friday, August 19, 2016

August 19, 2016

The swelling moon brings about change
Pulling the tides of my tears and pushing 
New, new, new
Everything at once. 
What I eat, where I sleep
Who tells me goodnight 
Or doesn't 
Rebirth is the name we give death
When the chasm is too great to cross
The void reaching languidly to 
Slip it's bony fingers inside each thing I hold dear 
And I tighten my grip
Loosen it
Let go
Pull back
Pick it apart
Diagnose and analyze and seek and find and eliminate and augment and nurse and cradle and cry
And the only thing that remains is what's left of too much
Too much
Too much
Is the only thing within my grasp
Hold it tightly 
Nurse and nurture my too much 
Hoping, and yet not
For the absolution that I was not too much
But that you were too little 
But that is neither comfort nor consolation 
For if I am too much 
And you are too little
What lies between us yet again 
Is the void. 






Tuesday, August 16, 2016

August 16, 2016

A tactile memory, 
the smell of soil in the damp spring air 
The dancing petals of roadside wildflowers
Indian paintbrush, evening primrose, bluebonnets 
Leaning back into your shoulder and smiling, our disheveled faces tipped to the sun. 
A deer beyond the gate, 
close enough we could almost touch her. 
Waking up to the pinprick chills 
of the morning mist on my face 
And wandering caves 
ahead of the crowd to imagine 
it's just us 
Seeking out bats 
and stalactites and cubed crystal formations. 
Holding hands with mysticism and contentment
And I sit here now confounded that 
That lush green spring and the winding hill-country roads
Gave way to this desolate heat 
of the late August moon 
Sunless sky and stagnant air
So heavy it pulls my breath 
And where I once woke up 
At the waters edge 
with you close enough to touch
I now lay awake on my back 
Unable to see even the stars

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Perseid 1

It's not better or worse
It's just who I am 
Sitting so small under the sky
hoping to see flashes of Perseid
Where we once sat in the red-backed chairs
Leaning and craning our necks
For neon zippers flashing 
Laughter and shots of blue liquor 
Cigarette butts and the one who
Loved when I tasted like smoke
and whiskey
Loved when I didn't watch my mouth 
Loved when I was angry and raucous 
Loved when I drank too much
And talked too much
 and loved too much. 
And now it's a strange full circle
That I tried to love someone like you
And now all your sins look like fresh snow
Or cocaine left untouched on the mirror
I love you like whiskey, I miss you like coke
And the lines in that notebook have faded 
Under empty cartons and wounded soldiers 
Your touch was alien and so familiar 
Your mouth felt like home
But not like love 
And I still taste like liquor 
And you still look like the thing 
I'll never open my front door to again. 
And the meteors still flash over our heads
And we still crane our necks
To catch a glimpse of falling rocks 
The things we want most 
Are always embedded in the darkest skies
And forever out of reach. 

Quilting

I carved a needle from the bone
Of my left ring finger
And pulled my heartstrings free
And I took every word you ever spoke
Tender and kind
Vile and slick
Lies and truths 
Blackout promises 
And morning after apologies
And I pulled the threads of my
Bloody heart through them all
One at a time 
Until the shapes of them came together
Into a quilt
A puzzle picture 
Of bloody skins and displaced tissue 
Tumors excised from birth
Ex-lovers, abusers, teachers
Babysitters, date-rapists
And one night stands. 
It's not a pretty picture
This whole of us I've strung together
And it bleeds and we bleed 
When I tear out the seams
And It doesn't make sense 
when I Pluck it apart 
And I wonder 
How many words 
Do I have to put together 
Before I stop fucking
With this rotten cloth 
Woven of the sum of us? 

August 11, 2016

Maybe you're right, old love. 
That I'm far too much to handle. 
That I'll have to be alone. 
That no one will ever love me 
That I've brought it all on myself 
That I'm too loud and too pushy and too needy and too demanding 

But I've worked so hard to become
Exactly what I am. 
And it's not a vision, it's a mess
I'm not trophy material
I am tears dripped in paint
And wild hair
And the beginnings of wrinkles on my forehead 
And leftover rolls of baby flesh at my hips
I am not easy or simple or elegant
I am not refined
I am raw 
I'm often ugly 
And still vain 

But I have lived a lifetime
To become these things 
And all the things I'll be 
Twenty thousand mistakes
Tacked together, built my face 
And maybe I alone will love it
But I will 
Because I still have love to give 
And I still desire love 
So I will love
And love and love myself
And that, you can't take from me. 

And in the end of the end
You'll join the ranks
Of those men who went mad 
trying to love me
And my immortal heart
Will pause for a moment
When you join the ranks of those 
That no longer beat. 



Wednesday, August 10, 2016

August 10, 2016

High desert, high plains 
high stakes, high grades 
High functioning alcoholics 
Getting high in one way or another
In one way or another 
And I miss you
Or the idea of you that I had in my head 
Not what's left 
I keep hearing old conversations 
When there was more laughter than anything else
I want someone to go to the beach with me
I tried to teach someone else's hand 
to hold mine like yours did
But none of it remains
Scrubbed clean, 
words like low-grit sandpaper 
Erased everything 
Even my fingerprints are gone
Skinless, bloodless, raw, and pink  
So that I can make no mark. 
I'm left on tenterhooks, suspended 
Waiting for the day when my skin
Finally tears clean
And the new, scarred, 
Ruined 
version of me 
can leave this place.