or perhaps the other day,
what does it matter anymore,
and you looked my way
only to then look away
shaking your head in disgust;
but what did i care
i’d made my choice,
already moving to the door;
so turning away
there was one thing to say:
what does it matter anymore.
completely full,
but not coming out,
clogged by the very substance
that gives it meaning;
and every now and then,
i hear it rumble within
as another tray is broken,
falling into the bin.
and all there is to do
is go to the source,
opening the cover,
forcefully taking my desire.
as a child
i thought
nothing was better
than a snow day:
staying home
warm inside
cold outside
free to build
free to roam
free to enjoy
being free.
and i love it still.
we once thought ourselves to be
but now its only you,
liberating me,
allowing me to return
to the sleep i once enjoyed
while you, alone with your fear,
go about your bondage,
sobbing softly in the dark,
watching reruns
of shows now long dead,
looking to the future
and hopes of what lies ahead.
it starts down low
and moves pretty slow,
tightening my guts,
making me feel nuts,
then slowly rising up
but not quite to throw up;
so i try to breath deep
and close my eyes to sleep,
then submerge myself in work
which is as helpful as a spork;
and when someone comes in,
hide it all behind a grin.
in just three hours,
we’ll be right back here,
yet again,
doing it all over,
yet again.
so we’ve got to
get in the food and drink
while we can,
and the clean sleep
while we can.
Soon this all will end
and off I’ll go,
back to real life,
back to work,
no longer able
to sit with you
to watch you
laughcryeatsleepgrow
to be there,
with you,
when you need me.
and night is day,
everything seems
just the same;
and sleep recedes;
and sleep returns;
and in the same moment
pain is found,
as is peace
and hope that someday,
hopefully soon,
we’ll be able to better commune,
and finally understand each other.
two days ago,
at just this time,
you weren’t.
and then you were,
with screams,
with kicks,
with little, furious fists
mad at the world,
making sure that you were heard.
and now you’ve somewhat mellowed,
allowing me to think:
about who you are;
and who you were;
and who you yet will be;
about what you will do to me.
raspy snores
sign of deep breathing
caused by exhaustion
and too late of nights,
punctuated every now
and again
by a whimper,
or a moan,
or a coo,
and it seems right.
until windows update
overtakes everything,
crashing this;
crashing that;
tearing everything apart
with its awesome power
and the majestic way
that it closes programs,
completely on its own,
maybe asking;
maybe not;
depends on its mood.
and all that’s left
for me to do
is acquiesce,
because there is no questioning
and there is no disagreeing
once the update has began.
it may not happen today
or may not happen soon,
perhaps not for 20 years,
until finally ready to exit,
Owen will spring forth,
fully formed,
not from the head,
but in the traditional way,
awkwardly,
gruesomely,
beautifully.
it might be slow to get going
but eventually it will
and when it does,
it will carry on,
ad infinitum,
and beyond,
for as long as we like,
never waning,
never lolling,
always good,
always too short,
until the time comes
and we have to go,
home,
away,
apart,
just when it started to get good.
and they never quite go
exactly how i would like,
until sometime after,
safely shut up in my office,
with only Dell around,
and a song on last.fm playing,
i reinvent the whole scene,
giving myself the best lines,
wowing my opponent with wit,
swooning her with passive-aggressive charm,
and above all, showing style
as i say the exactly perfect words
at the exactly perfect time,
and there is no sense of lingering guilt
and no feelings of inadequacy
but only triumph,
exulting in complete and total
verbal dominance.
if only chris farley
would come down from heaven
or up from hell
and to my place of work
to give me some hell,
berating me without ceasing
for my slacker attitude,
and threatening with bleak prospects
should I not improve,
telling me all about
a legendary van
and the picturesque river
that could be my land.
or it could be any day
or it could be a week away;
and in the waiting,
it’s hard to find peace,
waiting for the inevitable
and the moment when life begins,
again,
allowing self reinvention,
becoming who we will be,
becoming who we should be,
becoming who we are,
and have been,
already.
i am very thankful for you
and all that you went through,
for all that you did
and all that you said;
but today
i really appreciate this free day,
allowing me to sit idly by,
eating pizza for breakfast
and watching tv all day,
attempting to forget my cares
and enjoy the moment, while it lasts.
I saw my black whale today
once again parked in my spot;
the driver never seems to surface
but i know he/she/it is there,
circling deep down below,
toying with and taunting me,
waiting until my distracted eyes turn,
only then coming up for air,
and escape.
if i close my door
will i disappear,
carrying on just the same
inside of here,
with nothing to say
and nothing to do,
starring at the screen
only thinking of you.
i want to hide,
crouched behind doors,
cars, walls, trees,
waiting for the perfect chance
to jump up and shout,
scaring out the bejesus,
from deep inside you,
doing whatever it takes
to move things along.
the sieve and the sand 
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