You have pined up all your hopes on me
you have nailed me to the cross
Do you actually think that I will resurrect for you?
On my way out, you cheerfully threw at me your
“Work Hard” pet phrase.
Hell, I have aged at the touch of you
my joints hurts in the open air
my back responds to well to the gravity’s pull
only this snow so white on the ground
keeps me from hurrying to the devil’s mouth
soft – like carpet you can lay on
delectable – like a fresh glazed cake donut
exciting – like week one of football season
soothing – like a shower with the right water pressure
clean – like bare feet you don’t have to wipe off to come inside
diverse – like “smothered burrito or cajun mahi mahi?”
comfortable – like your own car with your own loud music
relaxing – like sunday driving
bright – like needing sunglasses after the snow
clear – like crisp air turning mist after a snow
pretty – like an afternoon walk around the lake
roomy – like the width of the isles at the grocery store
spicy – like the mustard on your beer brats
better – like america
i remember 16 as loud as
a gunshot, yet as
boring as cornfeilds in the
summer
it was permanent, then
the insanity
that is
that comes along with
knowing just how long
your
arms
are
exactly
and
not being precisely
sure
not being exactly
perfectly
fucking
sure
of how to use them
i remember 16 as dead as
a cemetary yet as frantic
as hanging to the side of
the earth
(with your nails)
it was all so fragmented, then
love
that is
and now looking back i seem
to miss
every
single
breath
i
took
of
every
day
and the rain that dripped outside
my windows on some stolen night
with the fruition of my higschool
fantasies and the bane of my
young-adult
ones
i remember 16 as well as i remember
anything else these days:
most often when i’d like not to.
A leak in the hull.
It’s dripping is heard louder
Than roars of the sea
shit.
upon discovering thread count
i re-evaluated my life
shortly thereafter
my wardrobe followed
Stormed shadows crawling
Across nearly frosted lawns,
The passage of time.
that’s pretty much it.
when you need them they make sure
that you fit into the square
whether your a circle or a triangle
and that you never have stolen
or curse
or lied
and that you love to listen to people
talk about themselves
and you’ve never lost your temper
and you think about others before yourself
they make sure that you are
a perfect
square
with
all
your
sides
the
same
length
so when the customer walks in
your smile is as shiny and warm
and deft and dead as
the red colored vest you wear
here is some honey to eat eh.
but what a-boat your weight eh?
holy crap there’s a bee!
er, way more than one bee!
do we stay and get fat or get goin’ eh?
Sloppy drops sink in,
Autumn approaches.
are drab, dreary, and beautiful
hiding the world from
the harsh sun,
bathing the land in
glorious shade
by every press of the peddle
the black smoke rises
disperses
disipates
dispells
the purity of earth and air
all in the name of
duelyism
all those mirrors
i’ve left them for dead
my eyesight’s improving
despite what they said
and the fireworks were just
flares we shot before we drowned
that july fourth that
i can’t remember much of now
all the smoke i inhaled
we followed the trail
it lead back to home
or somewhere close i suppose
all our idols strum guitars
and we headbang again and again
running from
the places we’ve been
lips tumbling poorly pronouncing
enunciated misunderstandings
cold buttons on warm clothes
earmuffs, attached stocking caps
misguided misdirected hopes dreams
fears leaving exploring hills in acid rain
lost going east thinking north losing road after wet road
no meetings thinking meetings
braggart strengthened hands
rubbing constricted bent bone bound muscle
loosening tension built alcohol released words
sputtered onto digital page
poured through finger pushed buttons
dumped, vomited whilst awe filled world
holds wordless breaths back
again our lips failing falling slipping slurping
seeking clarity
and when i die five years short of a full live span
i plan to say i lived five more years than the average man
i am starting to believe
that there is a fine toothed machine
that’s eating all the plants and trees
and it will set its sights on me
and it is feeding off my dreams
of big and scary evil things
of which i cannot quarantine
or properly concieve
a drunken
alcohol devoid
stagger,
fumbling through
with the only
real purpose being
to reach bed,
again.
i watch this charade
i feel the earth’s momentum
with fire in my eyes
when the
airplanes pass
they momentarily
eclipse the sun
casting
shadows and
redirecting
light triggering
memories of
the pacific
at 38,000 feet.
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