the way i remember it
we sure as hell were not thankful
that first november

ah but the gravy
you got that part right

as we adjust to our new bodies and in
feeling for friends,
grope around in the dark
backs of neglected cupboards

distinctions like these make you a racist
(with a shockingly large vocabulary
for differences in the color spectrum)

naked
altogether
not bored

reading

nights like these used to be so romantic
there was always something better
that could be
the food was terrible and the weather
just right
our hope for what was to come
probably in a chair nearby
and we hoped and dreamed
that this was misery we were experiencing

somehow making each moment more
worthwhile
telling ourselves this was suffering
and perhaps it was compared to the ecstasy
that was to follow

i cant help but wonder
whats it called when everyday is
exactly as wonderful as it should be?

when my job is to think about
furthering your kingdom
and here from another part of the world
living in another part of the world
doing another altogether similar thing
one more rejoicing over similar confusion
at just how lucky we are

will it end?

when in doubt the answer is yes
but then again, the doubt usually arises because the topic is alcohol
if in doubt
and the topic is not alcohol
the answer is no.

you said it’d be 100
i talked you to 50
given the way you drive
we’ll make it 30

pizza goes so well with
turkey melt sandwiches
you’d forget and forgive all (most)
woes

stress relievers
come at the end of flights
not in pill shaped form
(although if the hallucination was strong enough)
and when i test you
i know all the more
you were what i needed

sun at my back
hope for a future
and healthcare
i trust

hospitals without
piss and blood on the floors

its here i belong

for now

when you wore your chester
the molester stache
we joked at your creepiness

why couldn’t you just leave it at
a joke

we all make mistakes
why did your’s have to be at their
expense

i can make poop poetic
if given the time
and the will to rhyme it

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

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

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

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.

i’d photograph you
with the lens of my eye
in megapixels deluxe
if i could find a place
in my brain to store you

i’d cough to get your attention
but not really want it
just to assert my power over you
as you get more and more
uncomfortable
and finally yield
to my absurd will

shut down on me
and slow is all i can go
i long for my words to hit
the page

for in the same way
i cannot think without
moving my mouth

i cannot poetrize
without moving my
fingers

and lack of the interwebs
has me down.

i fell for you today
not for your beauty
(though you are cute)
but merely for your
utility
and to say
i have you.

five hours earlier
i new not of my need
to caress your smooth
sides with my hands

and pour life from
your stout spout