i live for moments
where (like right now)
my heart is beating
slightly too fast
and i’m just a little
faint as the wind blows
through the window
across my face and furls
my brow but i don’t notice
because i’m completely
wrapped up in what’s
happening and awaiting
my chance to say something
i hope is profound
but will probably just
be profoundly stupid.

i live for moments
like these, where my
pulse is near-to-death-inducing-freedom-from-this-world

the room fills slowly
with eyes roaming to and
then slowly back again
while mouths stay shut
and people sit anxiously
trying not to wiggle too
much or to avoid having
to re-cross their legs
and thus re-adjust their
junk in the midst of mixed
company where the conversation
topic will be anything
but comfortable while
all will nonetheless agree
about it’s importance to
their everyday lives and
their thoughts though
the teachers may do a
downright terrible job
and therein lies the rub.

are you here for what
i have to say? or what
the one in charge will teach
you.

there will be a dramatic difference.

i spit in to this river
because we all must.
to add our little bit
to the bowl of bacteria
in hopes someone downstream
will drink.

i’ll record this conversation
a record for my books
a place to keep my thoughts
away from dirty looks

this guy with whom i’m talking
doesn’t even open his mouth
but i see him in the mirror
the best looking in the south

a smile for a sitting friend
walking through the park
in the middle of the city
streets surrounding people’s
lives changed day in and day
out of the country, towards
the city with lights and friends
and the promise of the lack
of loneliness, though you quickly
find it’s an empty promise a
promise you never will leave
me alone in such streets as
these where the only green is
isolated to a small square a few
blocks from here, a park
with police of it’s own. a park.

clouds move in
and the sky, blue/darkblue/simply
dark
now

you’re not overwhelmed
but you are literally
being smothered by the cold the
rain has brought. and the reminder
that this week you are no longer
the invincible young’n you were
last week.

a line
here
to distinguish
from it’s friends
above and below

a room for two,
a table for one.
in a house
where you’re no
longer sharing
the bathroom

i never thought
i’d be so relieved
to see a single
part of my body
return to normal
size.

but then, in retrospect
i suppose i never
imagined any part
of my body
(let alone THAT part)
would grow to twice
or three times the size.

i never thought
i’d be so relieved
to see a single
part of my body
return to normal
size.

but goodness i’m close
to tears over my testis
and their recent turn
for the much much better.

these last few days have not
gone as planned.
the throbbing headache,
or maybe just the general
throbbing of pain in the
groinal regions.

three woman
holding, feeling,
ultrasounding my balls.

these last few days have not
gone as planned.

and all because the warning
pain was not headed last tuesday
in a run. and i hope my
body i still in tact, and i hope
i wake tomorrow in less pain.
and i hope at some point the
overwhelming sense of pain
subsides. oh a glorious word—
subsides.

until that day….

when the seat below
you shakes violently
and you know the ground
below is unsupported
except by wind and something
they call “airfoil” because
“they” are smarter than us.
when the seat below
you shakes violently
and you know the guy
operating this thing
definitely does not have
enough experience to be
doing this.

then.

it’s right then that a
serious panic attack
is completely acceptable
no matter what the calm
guy in the seat next to me
says.

a different life source;
something from inside this
time, and i picture the kid
who just found it staring
down at his chest and thinking
“that was different.” wondering
from whence it came, and if
it plans on staying around
because there are a few fields
he can think of sprinting through
a little faster than ever
before, if this after-burner
is going to stick around.

and that bmx track? he bets
he can fly around the graded
corners a little bit different
than he has before.

and he just stands there
imagining the possibilities
(if this is going to last)
for a few minutes as the revelation
of what just happened is a bit
much to take in right now.

but that grin, as he stares down
at his chest, that grin just keeps
growing on his face and it’s
like a light has been
turned on inside.

oh the horror of the mold
on the edge of the cheese
which wont be removed with
the swift slice of a knife
despite your prowess in
wielding objects of the
sharp assortment because
the mold is merely a metaphor
of something much harder to
extract from your worthless
life. the kind once valuable
but stored for much too long
in an environment much too
stale and humid, hence the
mold. you were asked about
this at 17, when you admitted
you knew not the meaning
of life, but you chose to
live on anyhow. like that
cheese — under-refrigerated.

oh the horror of the
worthlessness of meaningless
life rubbed in your face on
this long drive between home
and your old home where your
parents live but you were too
ball-less to move far enough
away to make a clean break
and find direction and do
something worthwhile.

yes
your life is meaningless.

and not because of your
dead-end job at the local
coffee shop. but because your
passion dried up in jr. high
when you turned down the only
thing you ever knew was
undeniably true.

i dwell on invincibility
when time is short
and worthwhile thought
will probably drive useful
conclusions but take
utterly too much time.

so i stand in front of busses
and fly off of cliffs,
out of airplanes and
underwater
in my mind
because it takes me nowhere
of any value

my favorite place to be

coffee at three
and new friends
(more than i can manage)
bring new conversation
and a schizophrenic (my first experience)
who brought…
new conversation.

and coffee at three
to keep me up till two.

contrasted with truth
the lies are just a bit
overwhelming
the burdens
too real.

a bout of gilbert’s syndrome
(a flare up if you will)
to remind me of my out-vincibility
and the likelihood of death
(1 in 1)

a reminder i could have used
just about any other tuesday.

but then again, such flares
are specific to such days.

and their single-layerness
their supposed callus-inducing
zippers (a common misconception)
and the way they bend and grow
and mold with me

from youth
till now
and furthermore
my friend
my pants will
ever be

and that love will be demonstrated in a once-each-month ritual cleansing process less religious than one might think, though certainly not lacking ritualistic practice. there will be a soak, a wash, a rinse, and tumble dry cycle — religiously, almost as if by machine.

turning it off like a faucet
is possible and almost just as easy.
however the sudden lack of
flooding in my mind is not
nearly so black-and-white
desirable
as an un-flooded kitchen.

sure things would be clearer,
cleaner, and less work to keep
mold-free.
but shutting out the chaos
just sounds so damn boring.