oh thank god for the twenty four seven
when you’re gone i can’t live with myself
the sunflowers i can’t even see on the horizon
i bet they’re not fucking real anyway
oh, renee
gonna write you a million lines just to
fill up the dead spaces i
didn’t even realize they were there
like a little boy left in the car
oh, renee
take me way o’er the rolling hills
i keep my heart beating for you
my fireworks travel across your nerves twixt your freckles like the constellations
our feet are in the reflection of the sky and dance cross the surface of the ar-kansas river
let’s get married. can we get married? i want to get married; to you.
you are a stretched out stock image in a powerpoint slide
your gait is the struggling of a worm on drying concrete
your breath is the rot of fish clogging a dam
your voice is a diesel engine whirring through the night
your smile is two particles colliding in the vacuum of space
your mind is made of ice yet dreams of being iron
your heart is the laws of the universe, unreasonable and pointless
die, make do
or get strong
lose or break your heart
every couple years.
take up the space that math
will let you
fight not to fall
due to gravity
i am a stupid fucking farmer
who will not check for toxic soil
or find a place with the right light and rain
to grow in
upright and happy
but just stare at and
scream directly into the sun
“what you will, will be!”
so that the plants grow crooked
and neurotic.
i dream that the morbid fields
come alive at once
grow vividly wicked
tangle me and choke me out
and let things go back
but even the most crooked stalks
don’t know that it might be
worse for them that way;
it is worse for them anyway
it is worse
o, god of numbers
and infinite variables
why have you forsaken us?
are we not your children
that live together
in this lonesome hatred?
with all your many arms
you do not cradle
but hold us down
we add and subtract raindrops
and guess at how long they fell
in the meantime
forgive me, the crooked and wingless
and small and unheard
that i am the poorest of your numbers
and i do not overstand
you make them clap or they will eat you
the white ones found on monkey island
i’ve no memory of being thrown overboard
but being washed ashore here
hear the incessant clapping and loud snores
make joke
get food
reach for banana
get scrap
i could kill all of them or none
and nothing would assuage my loneliness
pick your teeth with my sun-bleached bones.
loss of the things that define(d) me
and the lack of feelings about the loss
now define me
no that’s not true
i’m angry as fuck that that was me
for so long
who i am can change, but what I do
must
change or all those who love me are in for one hell of a shitshow
you would love today
and this song i just heard
oh, you’d never believe
the cubicle i live in
is it selfish or profound
for the unfairness to weigh on me?
that i can only share things
with a bastardized memory
of you?
oh my god,
the agony of
being excluded from
every day,
going forward (outside of my mind)
for you
are dead
i beg that it would save
a single tear
in the lonely moments before
you left
for you to know that
your friends will cry
during minutes that
you won’t see.
You told me there are rules
about how babies are born,
about how clothes are worn,
about gluttony and adultery
You spent every Sunday chatting
with your Brothers and Sisters
about how the rules apply
to everyone
There are no exceptions
Then your Husband wrote a letter
about getting out early.
He quoted Seneca, who said
that the wise man will live
as long as he ought
There are no exceptions
So do not talk about heaven
There are rules, after all,
and certain rules apply
when the wise man
cashes
out
but lowly blob what
if the acidity eats ‘way at
your cellular walls?
i am re-acclimating to a bigger pool
and death is the ante
with alien beings
oh my god
what infertile soil
could grow such twisted shocks?
and with such plain days as
this to grow!
i too grow, but confused
as i sit and think
it has poisoned its
own roots!
like an invasive weed
on a new island
tarry i, still
among the pathways
yet ingrained
in my fibers
i’d not tend to these abominations
by choice!
they say nothing
but a dead star
lies
round the horizon
they are wrong
though
cuz i can see
it shining
1.
it was unseasonably warm that day
and the day before, too,
and it was windy. I remember that much,
and the sun in my eyes
on the patio
through the plate glass
on the short drives
here to there and here to there
while our friends traveled through Germany
for the sixth or seventh time
there was nothing but time then
drinking black coffee in jackets
with the traffic hustling by
whispering about forever at 20
and I remember meaning what I said out there
and I remember the look in her eyes
2.
Time has a way of stopping sometimes
with a phone call for example
in a tacky Chinese restaurant
surrounded by our people
while the sun set just outside
and I told those people what I heard
after I pressed the End Call button
while our hearts all stopped beating
forever, I think,
for just a moment
3.
I drove to her in darkness
and she was all alone
when she let me in to her sitting room
There were no lights on
but she could see me
and she hated every word
I don’t know if I’d leave her now
but I left her then,
nine years ago
4.
We sat in a cafe
in silence
for what couldn’t have been
forever
and my tea got cold
as the weather had
that night
we talked about your boots
not in detail
but we did
5.
I remember you
Warmth in March
sun in the afternoon
I remember you
black coffee
downtown patio
friends in rooms
and cars
and futures
and cul-de-sacs
and I
still try to remember
to remember you
boots and all
i eat even when i’m not hungry
and i want you to suffer
you’ll kill yourself if
you don’t change
but you’re always changing
and you’ll always die
the balance will always be
as constant as passing energy
off onto everything you touch
and oh what you’ll do with
all of your power
enough to notice
not enough to care
let your mind trip you up
the path is just a wheel
anyway
and you’ll try and love,
love
the rush of drugs swirling round
your bones
but i’m always hungry
there could always be more
all these sharp cubes are boring
let’s go back to the
sphere
while standing in
the shade a strong
hand took you
and although
i would share
a million sunlit
hours with you
at that moment
i was so weak
i could not even
look your way
i ran
and i ran
and felt remorseful
but never did i cry
which is just what weak men do
—
standing in the doorway
with the light bouncing
off kitchen linoleum
i lock eyes with Lal
it’s an eerily quiet
afternoon in wichita
i turn as i smell
a hint of freedom
in the air
i spend a moment with
what is left of you
inside me
it’s an awkward moment
because i am ashamed
and i finally cry
for you
You are dead and gone
and I still do not know
what that means
In eighth grade we were seated
at a table in a corner
in an art class
why was that enough
We talked every day
and sometimes we walked home
together
One day in the summer
you and your neighbor came over
unannounced
so we walked a long time
and found another friend
from that art class
Then I was in high school
and you were there too
so we memorized each-other’s
home phone numbers
We played games
every weekend
our junior year
The next step we planned together;
community college until
both of us slept through
the bus to our second
semester finals
We drove a lot that year
Then we found jobs
and you worked until you didn’t
so you moved away
while I stayed
but you came back
I was a manager then
so I hired you
and we did what we always had
but sometimes you got things wrong
that you never had before
Then Matt died and you left again
and I blamed you for a long time
but I forgave you when you came back
when you told me you were schizophrenic
when you showed up at a show to scream
when we fought in the parking lot
when you sped away drunk
when you messaged me angrily
I forgave you
but I never called your phone again
Then it was Christmastime 2 years ago
you were sick, you were tired
you were sorry – you swore you were sorry
you were dying from bone cancer
in a broken arm
I told you that I loved you then
and I meant it and I still mean it
I told you that you’d be OK
and I’m sorry that wasn’t true
When they took your arm you said
all you wanted was a life
When it didn’t work you told me
you just didn’t wan’t to die alone
I’m sorry.
I met you on a Wednesday night
you were twenty one years old
Your flight to school in the Netherlands
was only two days away
We left the bar to play music
and your drumming was perfect
for all the tunes he called
and I saw you smile at him
when you caught him smiling at you
You were bright as a beacon
at the center of a starless desert
You were going to be a neurologist.
He will miss you every day.
We walked from the east forever ago
dragging our belongings in burlap bags
You were with me then
with a smile that stretched as far
as your eyes tended to wander
and I should have known
that you couldn’t stay
When we reached a strong, shallow river
I said I’d take your load
but you swore you couldn’t swim
So you headed south
when I waded in
Rosie was eleven years old
she told us, as the overweight bulldog
began to wheeze near her feet
while a television program murmured
in the living room
A tree had fallen on the property line
so now she was all alone
except for old Rosie here
He was driving their big-wheel tractor
with the mower deck running off PTO
maintaining 28 acres on an August afternoon
when suddenly he succumbed
to a massive skull fracture
She warmed the other’s coffees
but she didn’t need both her mugs anymore
so she sent one out with me
‘No more air piano,’ she said
trying her best to smile
As we bid farewell to Rosie
and left them both
with the upright grand we’d come with
