Fuck.
I’m tired.
But
I have to
finish
at least one
complete
cognizant
thought.
Diligence isn’t
or doesn’t seem
to be working anymore.
A few
quick
naps
do not a
good night sleep
make.
Think.
Fuck.
I’m tired.
i know your love
should be the only thing
that matters but
how can i truly KNOW that
when i’ve heard of nothing
in this entire universe
dependent upon a solitary necessity?
even a flower needs
sundry more than the sun’s rays
like chlorophyll and shit
the first night we
spent apart i slept
with seventy-nine men adrift
a roaring sea of snoring
lost
without you stealing
my covers–but then i
realize that’s why
your skin radiates
incandescent warmth
when i reach for you
in the middle of the
night. now i know your
thermal secrets
and I’m not afraid to use them
against you.
can’t get these things
to come out of my mouth
when my equations are solved
before i write them down
by the things they don’t
teach in school and you’ve
got to find them out yourself
and if you aren’t looking
hard enough, well
that’s deplorable.
not logical the way you write
when you’re down
but beautiful
thinking like you do even though
that seat was reserved for someone
else in the snow to never be
shared but you shared it
it not logical but it is
beautiful
And t’s sobering
to see the best of men sit
Fighting for 3 long years,
just to witness all the good times.
To make God Damned certain
that his kids have grown.
To make God Damned certain
His people were taken care of.
It’s not a death in the family
but it hurts like one.
Goodbye Gary.
We miss you already.
falling suddenly
rain burst from sky
as if the clouds everywhere
shattered and God stood on the
other side of that firmament, hammer in hand
labeled
“use in case of emergency.”
We told ghost stories
while driving down a
mostly-abandoned midnight
stretch of I-94.
The truck hummed familiarly,
keeping a semblance of
comfort as our minds
Raced,
back to places where we
didn’t know what lay
quite beyond the ring
of our flashlights.
When gates swung
for no good reason,
and toys came on
without a battery to
power them.
the thoughts of forgotten
fears gripped us,
memories of times spent
in dark places we
probably ought not
wander through.
And without the comfort
of that constantly
humming motor,
I’m certain we would
have driven ourselves
Insane.
Going home is strange
and nearly, almost always
leads to regression,
not within me
but within my dad
who mistakes me for the child i was
and forgets that i can make my own choices
but instead expects me to join in
to whatever the action is,
whether that is eating
mylanta for upset tummies
or drinking water
when i don’t want to
or taking a dump
at the appropriate time,
so that after i leave,
i never know how
i make it on my own.
these things sit very
firmly like the earth:
money
institutions
the thoughtless
american dream.
you cannot budge them
they do not need to be
emphasized
we’ve already bought in
we are no longer
on earth, we are
in a country. we are no
longer a human being,
we are a caucasian male
american. we are no longer
singular. you walk outside
and you’re not a human
standing on the earth
breathing in the air
your standing in the middle
of property, names, buildings,
commerce, shit.
but it’s fact
and
anything else
would
be
crazy.
I have no fear of shotgun-toting
orangutans. And why should I?
They’re just monkeys with
weapons they don’t understand
how to handle.
crisp air penetrates my synthetic
clothing allowing out sweat but
also keeping the moonlight from
slowly warming these early risen
bones
And all the while
you think I can handle myself
But I can’t
I’m just a victim of
your imagination.
my eyes alone
my eyes are alone
i see through them
as does no one
else
i see through them
and am solitary
yet a person
like everyone else
but i don’t know
what everyone else
sees because i
can only see through
my eyes alone
you know me?
how could you
know anyone else?
you didn’t exist
until i saw you
through my eyes
alone.
Toyota makes a fine,
Fine automobile
But
I have never
been more terrified
of potholes.
i offend
you offend
we both offend,
and it just keeps going
with every word we say
with every move we make;
hurting and digging,
long after we have forgotten
the reason why this all started
but just wishing
that we can be apart
so that this can all stop;
so the night progresses
seemingly interminably,
until we unite in bed.
foiled by your deceptive
glances leading yet another
one through the parking lot
past dark alleys and into
sketchy old warehouses
just to go bowling
spring has come
with cold and rain
and almost but not quite sleet
and wind and clouds
and gloom and doom
and all the things I wish
would last all year.
it goes rmmrmmm
and it goes bmmbmmm
calling unwanted attention
to my self-disclosing mid-section
despite my attempts to
hush and shush and
my muttered “shut-up stupid stomach!”s
Lackadaisically we
found ourselves submerged
within the folds of our
own self-indulgent malaise.
All confidence aside, we
faltered all too willingly
into a sultry – if sordid -
Non-movement.
It’s the worst thing we
could do to ourselves,
but damn it,
sometimes,
it feels so good.
strings of thoughts and things
i stand and grab by bag by an arm
strap as it lacks a handle and i have
to bundle it in my hand to keep it
from scraping the ground as we walk
because i’m too tired to go on sitting and
we talk about philosophy, theology,
life, and trees and the things you used
to make people do because you thought
it best but have since learned that while
sometimes it was really quite beneficial
it turns out most of the time you were
beating your head against the wall
uselessly discovering the texture therein
through repeated brief bouts of contact
with your now bloody forehead
i’m glad we’re standing now
i was so tired just one moment ago
When last I checked
I’d heard you’d died
when last I checked
you’d lost your way
when last I checked
You had escalated your
situation, and it’s
up to you to
redefine what ‘died’
really means
between now
and when next I check.
or not
you’re on the one hand or the other
hand in hand and foot in shoe (if it fits
then don’t take it off to the races
are from mars and women are from
that land out yonder where
your bristle breaks
where your beard bristles
and where your blabbery
is better tolerated
Sometimes I wonder
what my cold fingers feel
like
scraping on your skin
like
ice?
like a strange and
unwelcome touch from
a specter?
Am I a ghost?
yes?
Can I be your ghost
at least?
I just want you to
tell me how
these hands feel
on your skin
And so I sit
remissly weathering
another evening
after spending the day
so carefully on
nothing in particular.
But the jazz was fucking good, man.
stumbling over words stuck on a single
letter reminiscing over second grade
when i learned to read aloud and not sound
so much a fool as my classmates something
i chose to hold over their heads apparently
to this day now disgusted at my inability
in a new tongue to complete a single sentence
without a pause to think what this word could
possibly be and how it might should fit into
said phrase knowing you’re laughing
as i would if you were reading this and
knowing those second graders would laugh
too at me but i have to stand with grad students
who are mature enough to hold in their laughter
but bad enough poker players to keep me
from seeing it all over their faces
i’ve been tossing
my head around with
psychedelic mushrooms
climbing
mount
everest
with
my mind
and going back and
forth and back and
forth and i think
the best line i heard all day
was a jab, directed at a young kid
trying to hide his girth
with an oversized coat:
“why don’t you go live on hoth you freak!”
which made me think
i’d like to live on hoth
where not only would it always be cold
but i would no longer have to worry
about my girth.
if only march would never come
if only winter could last all year,
and i could stay in the cold,
wearing coats and scarves and gloves,
not feeling the strange feeling
of warmth in my pants
that comes with humidity,
that comes with spring.
It’s raining.
four-thousand dollars worth
of expensive electronic equipment
to be moved from one building to
another with a car that
doesn’t have the best weather-
stripping in the world
and it’s raining.
