Five Years Gone Page 5
like puppies, all hands and big eyes
or kittens, eager to be bagged and drowned
this bitter, surrounded vulture, wondering
how that got so far away and time
such a slippery thing, turning doves
into pigeons and pigeons into rats,
high schoolers into revolutionaries
and accountants into snowy owls
all pressing on through the white out blizzard
into welcome darkness, a blindness for sore eyes
Anniversary
Insomnia smells like
midnight winds and Mexican food
and salt. I can’t breathe,
I’m too disappointed
in myself. The whole year
feels like waiting
for the date to come around,
face pressed against cold stone
or warm bodies, just fighting
off the chill.
Insomnium
Counting stars like sheep,
dreams like an open-eyed
brick road to know where
when I can’t tell if I’m asleep
or underground, hill and dale,
stale air and protective goggles
in goblin tunnels, this can’t
be real. So it isn’t, just
the dark ceiling, impassive
as I beg my way to sleep.
This isn’t a vacation,
it’s a business trip, so I wake up
bruised, dried red under my fingernails
and dirt in my mouth.
I wake up needing a nap.
I wake up without wanting to,
without wanting to stay or go,
only for everything to freeze, dropping
suddenly through the earth,
hearing only the breathing
of the tree roots and suffocating.
It’s four am.
Do you know where your self is?
I don’t.
early flight
I’m not used to seeing
this side of dawn
the good boy side
six a.m. freshly rested
as the chill shoots through
my nice button-down
shirt and pressed slacks.
I only shiver because
I’m cold, I promise.
Holiday Travel
The memories aren’t mine.
I bought them secondhand.
It’s cheaper than getting new ones
and they’re already broken
in, comfortable and distant.
The soundtrack on a goodbye
is quiet, full of pops and hisses
on what should be a silent
December morning.
Even Phoenix is cold in December,
at Christmas, at dawn,
in a short security line.
The colors are faded.
I’m not sure if the airline
seats are blue or grey
beyond the fuzziness of tears.
The heat is on. It’s still comforting
to wrap the jacket around me.
The stewardess asks if
I’d like my coat hung up.
I don’t look away from the window
as I say no, it’s too cold.
Terminal
The line seems to snake on
forever, and the mountain of
baggage left behind at the
security checkpoint only grows.
How much can any one person
have abandoned?
The carpet is thin and scratchy,
the line slow-moving, the florescent
lights flickering overhead.
I can feel a migraine starting,
clawing its way up the back
of my neck.
A woman at the conveyor belt
is trying to bribe the attendant
with brightly colored bills. I
go to slip off my shoes; I’m
not wearing any. Suddenly I’m
cold.
Another, and Another
Another Sunday spent in the library
hunched over the copy machine,
wincing as the spines crack
on irreplaceable books but trying not to care,
pressing one poem and the next
into the cold arms of the copier.
I step away eventually with
a thick stack of pages,
warm to the touch, almost beating, fluttering.
Something about these poems…
I read over them, at night,
when no one bothers to think me weak
or think anything about me.
Trite? Sure.
But poetry should make you feel that way.
I feel the warmth of expired and lost and out-of-print
words in my hands,
I hold it too tight and dent the pages.
If I get it close enough
maybe the ink and the passion
will rub off on me.
Evacuation
The books are piled
in the hall, shaking
skyscrapers fallen victim
to the natural disaster dripping
through the drywall ceiling.
Paint bubbled and popped,
pus and rain running
down the wall and
I am embarassed for
my home’s acne, this
awkward adolescence
where every appliance
seems outgrown and
every afternoon squall
brings a new disaster.
Nomenclature
Last relics of a
forgotten civilization,
timeworn Lemurian
seed crystals
etched with the
lost knowledge
of the ancients,
painstakingly reclaimed
from the bitter seas
and offered up for those
who would learn
antediluvian lessons.
– It’s just quartz!
yells the vendor
across the aisle.
Too Early
dream logic is persistent
crowding my mind as I brush my teeth and dress
with hazy cobwebs only half forgotten
places I should be
and important quests that have slipped away
all day I worry
that I’ve set aside something important
I check my pockets
my to-do list, my satchel for clues
but whatever it is was lost
Yeast
my mother said to use bread
to gather up the smallest pieces
of a broken glass, the ones
too small for the broom,
just large enough to climb
up into my feet at night
I grew up a man of no worlds
wandering from place to place
begging for bread in my bowl
not because I’m hungry
but to make sure I catch
all the broken shards
The Fairy Godmother’s Curse
can never get too comfortable
with a mouth full of snakes and toads
spit at the wrong moment. I never
meant to offend whatever
fairy cursed me so young to speak
awkward, unpleasant things.
I’ve learned to bite them back
over the years – most of the time
but they still slip out,
leaving me embarassed
with a slick film in my mouth.
I’ve tried so hard, learned sometimes
to turn cockroaches into cabochons
but it almost seems worse
because if I lose my concentration
the frogs escape without my knowing.
Others turn away in disgust
but I’ve been spitting bugs so long
that I can’t always tell
the tastes apart on my tongue,
pearls or chitonous exoskeletons.
They all crunch alike to me.
Weird
the strands of fate are hung
so tight that even the lightest
touch calls forth notes,
plucking chances out of randomness
and knowing when to hold the note,
when to release it into
the larger symphony
Pation
just a little knot
in my stomach, just a bit
short of breath right now
just little cat feet
on me before I know it
pinning me down now
nothing to do but be done
no way to win but to run
The Volva Sends Her Regards
No one asks anymore
but I will tell you nonetheless
to pass along.
I see a proud eagle circle high,
watching below and unwilling
to notice the ravens yet above him,
readying their talons.
I see a swan with a broken wing,
lashing with one good, strong wing
at all who would help it, screaming
to the sky and to those who do not answer.
I see a crane surrounded by fire,
a great river run dry with frogs
left frozen in the hard mud.
The bears sleep, all out of season.
The rams pace, all out of proportion.
The ones below come above the ground,
the ones above will step down or fall.
The empty queen has already lost
her decision, and no one notices.
Be very careful where you stand
before you seek to bring balance.
The pendulum is nearer to your side
than you think, the clock about to strike.
Desperation is already in the air.
I see wolves loping leaderless through
the heat of the long summer. Wolves
cannot be tamed; those are called dogs.
There is a dog among them, but they
cannot smell the hunter on him yet.
I see a choice made in the heat
of midsummer. What seems selfless is not,
and when you thirst, it is easy
to drink without due consideration.
Pass by the fine mead; choose water.
I see two dragons beneath the land,
then above, setting fires in the heat.
There are jewels set in their eyes
and fine metals inlaid in their skin.
In the end the fire will burn
itself out, and the land will renew
as it always has, as it always will.
Holy Week
white on white
spring petals against the pale grey
backdrop, sidewalk, and everything
again in puddles below
I’m still waiting
for the lamb, settling instead for
roars and peeps and the sense
that something is creeping
up when I’m not looking
every moment is precious,
allegedly, and will not come again
and I should care. I should watch
and count and I’m afraid I will
always miss what’s important.
Drinking Game
swallow the acid
back down, bite your tongue, smile, nod,
give up quietly
do not give them hope
hoping won’t help anything
do not tell them true
every time you wake up sharp,
hearing her voice, take a shot
Unlive It All
James Dean Reincarnate
rebel in a clip-on tie
crooked, wrinkled
not quite tucked in
on the floor
on the phones
asking everyone
if they want to refinance their mortgages
but what he’s asking for
is an excuse
to give up
to drive into the desert
and be legend again
Evokation
pine needles, fresh soil:
summer at scout camp,
wet weeks when nothing
wanted to dry,
spiders and squirrels,
and the desire to sneak
somewhere, anywhere
like in books about camp
though I knew there was
nothing at all
on the other side of the lake,
so we make up
the ghost stories
invoking the deaths of
imaginary campers,
we murder ourselves silly
in the dark and wish
it lasted longer
Come Visit, Stay for Dinner
The door
in the back of my head
doesn’t lock.
It just sticks.
Kick it real hard
when you come in with the beer
and it should open.
If not, yell
til I get a headache
and I’ll let you in.
But don’t tell anyone.
I’d hate to have
my brain robbed
in the middle of the night.
You know how they steal dreams.
Whitewater Rafting in Egypt
bite down.
harder.
leave red crescent moons
in your palms.
play nice.
smile.
wince.
squint real hard
until you see it
the way you’re supposed to.
go along.
just go along.
Mislaid
Even the ugly can get laid,
but I lie here
beneath my lover –
eight feet and a flight of stairs
beneath my lover –
while the night refuses
to be silent.
I don’t know the language
of each individual creak,
but I can guess
the meaning, a rough translation.
Sex is pidgin for love
and I’ll settle
for dirty looks from the crickets
and my own hand on my cock
while I pretend your groans
are not so far or echoed.
Dragging
Taking a hacksaw to your balls
in the pursuit of perfection,
but you still won’t fit your glass panties.
Sorry, sister. It’s not your world or mine,
just the underwear models
who grow up to be politicians
or extras on the set of your Lifetime movie.
Move your knife.
Roll credits.
Puzzling it Out
jumbles and crossed words
to puzzle out, he drives
too fast, corners too hard,
chasing dragons
and personal demons
through red lights.
the numbers don’t add up
and he’s buckling down,
got the book of the secrets
of the universe and this time
he swears he’s going to study.
Side Dish
cutting through the cold and
the silken lifeline
at least the soup is warm
steam rising from the bowl
even as my muscles are cooling
we’ll just come around again
and again and again
you spinning your web
catching me
you’re hanging me to keep me
from falling
Evokation II
Musty wood paneling,
pine sol, Wheel of Fortune,
weekends at my grandmother’s
house (always hers in my mind,
not my grandfather’s)
staying up too, too late
in my uncle’s old bedroom,
listening to late night radio
requests, pleas, and circling
the room on nervous feet,
avoiding the creaks (and there were a lot
of creaks, it was an old house)
it was not indulgence
so much as exhaustion
on my grandmother’s part,
her sixth parental sense
seemed faded; as long
as I stayed quiet
I found myself in that
early morning twilight
now that I can see it whenever I like,
accepting exhaustion
the next day, it still reminds
me of chenille bedspreads
and scratchy carpets
Footlights
rose colored footlights
and a happy ending,
a finale that’s just overture
in reprise;
nothing new, nothing good,
nothing nice, just right,
just over.
as if I can hold up the curtain
begging the audience
to stay for more.
you’ll stay, won’t you?
Comfortable
King size pillow on a twin bed
with sheets too big,
wrinkled and tucked on all sides.
He wants to be tucked in, away-
he’s already away-
exiled to this childhood bed.
He hoped it would be
too small to be lonely.
His teddy bear’s long gone
but he’ll settle for the pillow,
his head on its shoulder,
arms tight around its middle.
He’s too old for teddy bears
but not for twin beds
or leaving the door open
a crack for the hall light.
Coming home is supposed
to be comforting, but this
is no reset button.
If he tried, he might
forget and unlive it all.
Falling Out of Orbit
Mercury
such a tight orbit.
seems I can’t get away
from you.
a scorched-earth
policy on the past.
everything is forgotten
in the face of you
as I spin around again.
Venus
languorous, long trunks
reaching up to soft green branches
the rainforest is damp,
dripping, waiting
for the clouds to part
one blast of the sun
burning all the rain away
into the atmosphere
hold your water close
or evaporate into nothing
Earth
lay me down sweetly
push you into the black dirt
sweeping architecture, graceful
grind it in
drops from the grey-brown sky
stains you don’t want to wash
white spots, mushrooms
bleach, burning away
lye about your identity
and I’ll believe you
as I curl beside you
Mars
lay down your arms
now pick them up again
put them around me
hold me back
push me away
pull me closer
pull me down
tie me down
beat me
beat me
and we’ll do it again tomorrow
Jupiter
we walked the rocky path
together, somehow didn’t notice
the branches and now
we are apart. orbiting
other stars, we turn
our faces away and I wonder
that I don’t see you.
shock me, run to me,
be the one who reaches out,
holds the radio high,
makes the grand gestures
when I am afraid. don’t
let me get away.
Saturn
we walked the rocky path
together, somehow didn’t notice
the branches and now
we are apart. orbiting
other stars, we turn
our faces away and I wonder
that I don’t see you.
shock me, run to me,
be the one who reaches out,
holds the radio high,
makes the grand gestures
when I am afraid. don’t
let me get away.
Uranus
you said you liked the kinky shit
until it was actually time to play
you’re too theoretical for your own good
theories don’t take you to bed
stop waiting to be transformed
into a fairy tale porn star
the blood, the mess, the awkward
laughter? That’s half the point
of trying, and all the reason
to keep going.
Neptune
you’re lying right now
I can tell, you stupid bitch
I’d call you on it if I could
get any oxygen in my lungs
all I can taste is salt
water and bitter copper
so stop apologizing
and let me die already
Pluto
my finger stick slightly
to the ice, the pain shivers
up to the elbow
I drop everything
close my eyes
feel the space around me
at least now it’s quiet
Lioness
Your skirt hiked up,
your face unconcerned among thorns.
The scratches are nothing
next to the art you see
in discarded rosewood.
When you catch a thorn in your paw
I would happily draw it out,
the mouse at your feet,
but you’ve already done it
with another thorn.
My hands are full of tiny holes
as I carry your ideas away,
the mouse and the cage.
Shake your mane
and we’ll be going.
Autopsy
serial killers always say ‘I love you’
but this is the fourteenth time
you’ve killed me and I’m not sure
it counts if you only have one victim
over and over
Out Loud
sunflowers shone in moonlight,
geraniums stood blood-black
and the rest of the garden
was filled with pale ghosts
around my ankles.
I dug my toes into the dirt.
I wanted to drive but I had
no destination in mind.
the glass slid open behind me.
an artificial breeze followed
her out. I shook in it.
she pressed close enough
for me to smell her, begging.
a glass more than half full
was not enough to slake her
thirst, so I slit my wrist.
she went for the throat.
Hansel
baking air, hot sun
my skin bubbling under it,
juices flowing,
red with butter and garlic
out through the holes I make
clawing at myself
no, tell me that
while you tear me apart,
what was the appeal?
why sweeten your meals
with my psychosis and feed
my delusions? why keep me
for so long before
you ate me and threw my bones
aside to be gnawed,
not even bothering
to suck the marrow out of me.
you fancy yourself such the cook
with your sharp, sharp knives
and your pretty blue pots
and your rusting red baking tins
and your herbs and spices
battering me with a dash of this
and a hint of that starving me
leaving me to clean up
the leftovers of my predecessors.
and I stayed-
you kept me telling me I was different
that I would never leave you
teaching me to eat my own,
to devour myself, until I learned
how good I tasted
and I decided I no longer wanted
to share.
Fluorescent Lit
A sudden stroke of memory
Leather under my nose
And the strangest details, your house
With Spanish courtyard and leather couches
Impractical in the humid heat
Smiling at you over the stationary displays
In a department store, unfamiliar aisles
Where you dragged me, laughing,
Promising no one would see
Codependence
old notebooks with yellow pages
high school classes scrawled
between stories, doodles
a million ideas and nothing finished
then I met you
and nothing started, pages full
of desperate thoughts
for you and nothing else
empty pages
and life folded up like origami
Smoke Inhalation
I can’t breathe, you drift
into my lungs and sit on
my thoughts, infect me.
Still Bitter
amazing what wounds
stay raw and seeping while we
pretend we move on
Standing On You
I moved on.
Okay, maybe I didn’t totally move
on. I’m still reading your journal
but I never let on, and when it
hurts, you won’t ever hear. You
can talk about how happy you are,
and how he hurt you but you’re better now.
And how good I am with him, and
it’s okay, because know you don’t mean it.
You were busy looking at him. I hid,
and that was okay. I’m still hiding
behind this IP proxy, just in case
you’re checking. I’ve moved on,
though. It’s just an illusion that I’m
standing still.
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