the sieve and the sand

today is the day of
unnerving
inescapable
and totally necessary sadness
and today is the day
where the rain comes
and goes
and the sadness slides down
your throat like wet cement
and you wait for a long time
for it to harden in your
stomach
you are
off to see some place you sold
all of your belongings to go
without a hint as to
what your getting into
today is the day that you
wait at the train station,
whistles blowing,
none of them yours,
trains plowing through,
none of them yours,
sitting on a bench waiting
for the cement to harden
in your stomach,
whistles blow,
is that your train?
today is the day where you
don’t know if your train will
come
tomorrow is the day that you
realize you weren’t ready
to get on.

And it must be so depressing
to lose because it’s everybody’s fault
While you could have fixed everything
with your silver tongue, if not for your
broken jaw

this night is creeping upon me
or, the sun is dropping below
it’s horizon
and the lack-of-light is
enveloping me
and i like it, to be honest
i really like it alot

my veins are now burnt
out black snake fireworks
the blood
crawls through them apathetically
the black tubes falling
where they may based upon the
original flame that birthed them,
no intent on anything

this night is creeping upon me
and the heat is leaving the
air and
in turn
drying out my skin
and i am lying on the pavement
as the children walk back
inside
and i like it, really,
to be honest.

i spend hours with you
at a time
huddled
you know
on a cold wooden floor

watching you run back and forth
between me and an apparently
fascinating step
(or curb you insist on stepping on)

i hold you and entertain you
literally just watching

and this is my life now
hours and hours are not mine anymore
they’re yours

and they’d think me a hero
but not a greek pansy
rather one from a childrens
book trilogy or octogy
and they’d build me up
in their minds until
they saw
they saw the movie
and realized

like all of them (and worse)
my knuckles grew hair and
my back – if skinned -
could comfortably carpet most
houses

Scrawling ink across the pages
of someone else’s diary
re-writing certain histories
to make everything right again

The memorandum all but gone
replaced by interjections from
an outside source that, guaranteed,
knows better than the first-hand

Specifically, the details have been
all but ironed out,
but specifically, the bits that mattered
now no longer count.
Periodically it’s best to check
and read our own account
as periodically, details are often
all but ironed out.

my pet phrases wont grow old
even if in one language
they’re a racial slur
but i use them frequently in a
nother.
even then my brilliance will not
be lost
(on myself)
for laugh you may
but gawk i will
at just how awesome
my humility makes me

i’d love for this to someday be a
joke

I hate going to sleep before you
the bed, half-empty, feels
cold and continental

my alarm, set earlier, glows
sinister saturating my dreams
inevitably with uneasy sleep

so please
every night
let’s
fall into the sheets simultaneously
cover each other first with kisses
then the blanket
then our limbs
embracing into unconsciousness.

Taking time to
look back in
time, and I
find the photographs
of the happiest
year of my life.

And I remember the
people who have moved,
and the others who have
moved on,
and my dog (who’s gone),
and the place I called a
home for
Ten Short Months.

It’s the only place
I really want to go
back to. It’s the
only home I want,
of the handful
that I knew.

Fuck new beginnings.

lyrics like yours arent there anymore
for me to admire
and copy with rhyme
beat to perfect timing
since then things seem off
since we sat together
in the sun in our classroom
mocking the teacher
and dreaming of publication

We are like
little worlds,
each a slight parody
of the next. Each
just near enough
to be the
same system,
with all of us
at least one
world apart.

I see you,
through the
(mostly imagined)
vacuum,
but it is hard to
reach so far.

I will try to land my
craft.
I can not survive
on your surface.

‘Well, contrary to
popular belief,
YOU CAN’T MAKE ME
do a damn thing.’

If that were a
T-shirt, I’d call
bullshit every time.

Because, who needs
reaffirmation of their
personal stoicism from a
T-shirt?

Now shut the fuck up
and go get me a soda.

grainy
is what they’d say
because they’d miss
the short
fat
tiny spout
and see rather your texture
than your form
utility
over beauty

after all your sand roots
make you not less useful
just slightly more

absorbent.

We’ll let the fire burn itself out,
but that damn log is big enough
to last ’til sometime late tomorrow
afternoon, and that suits me just
fine.

Fuck following
the guidelines
on these, as well as
other things.

Grab a wrench and ditch
the training wheels.

The things you remember
are not the smooth
coats of paint, but the
textured mess on the
kitchen wall.

Let’s do something nebulous.