Sunday, December 30, 2007


i locked the door after one of those conversations.
the ones that leave no questions.
I stood strong and bolted with certainty.

An answer hung in the air like the axe I use to smell
in the shower.

the questions kept coming and i had nothing to offer,
but a stiff lip.

He had learned to talk while I was away.
I learned to walk before we met,
like everything that goes unsaid,
I let it roll like my eyes
on the other side of the door.
Bolting will not be an option today...

I wondered if I could still reach the girl I use to be.
Through all the closed doors
to the swingsets and off the floors
of nothingness.
I'd tell her it's all come to this...

a point? in time, in reason, in a new understanding of ourselves?

i forgot my point.

If a man can learn to talk, maybe I can learn to stand still.

I'm unsure of where this rambling is going.
So I'll sleep.
Life is getting back to good.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

An unedited version of yesterday morning.

It hadnt seemed like 4 years once I got there.

It felt like was the first winter after the March that first brought us here.

Time has gone so fast and not at at...
And so much has changed.
I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, like always do.
I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry I couldnt lift you up and out an on and over all this that brought you there,
as if I could ever do enough.
I don't know what sort of Karmic consequence we are suppose to be repaying.

I stepped softly onto the snow that blanketed all that I had hoped to see.
Each careful step breaking through the silence and thin ice.

It's all so quiet. Everyone can hear my silent screaming whispers.
But there is no one around.
Not here or there or home or over the river.
There is no one there.

I feel as if no one remembers your existance, like they have all 'moved on'.
I've become too insecure to speak of my memories.
Is any of this real?
Like we all have to keep quiet and not step out onto the thin ice that covers you.
But fuck it. I dig in, I threw snow, I screamed my little head off inside my little angry hurting head.

And I brought you something.
Lillies. Again.
Waterless and white.
I burried them with you.

Because I want to see them this spring.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Straight lines

This is another old one that I really loved. Probably written in 2005 or so....

straight lines
Current mood: guilty

The seasons had changed and gotten much colder since I had last seen Sasha.
Her hair had changed and
So had I.
I vaguely remembered the scent of Paul Mitchell in her hair and the sensuality of those lips.
It had been such a long, long time.
I remembered a few things about her.
The way she traced my scars. The way I felt when we laughed when we got caught. The way I understood her the first time.

She had always tasted like vanilla frosting. Sasha was so smooth and cold, waiting behind eyes bluer than mine for me to melt her.
But her legs were hot and we had driven for hours waiting, anticipating another sunset.
We never knew when it did.
We stayed up talking about our haircuts and how long it had been since we had had a real...
haircut, color,
kiss, shopping spree,
ice cream
and such a good fuck
so we did.
until the sun could go down, like I on her,
before we could shiver and shake.
God, I remember her.

That night, after we had both giggled and squirmed and
you know, there was that moment.
At least twice,
I looked up to see her shadow against the door of our sacred closet,
I saw her so perfectly flawless.
I felt the love she had flood over me in waves like the passions in our embraces.

A familiarity so familiar it couldn't even be happening again.
So I fucking left her there. To walk straight lines and find someone like paul mitchell.

And I will be loved.


tastes like his soap and pancakes at noon.
with sugar and cinnamon and edges crispy and perfect like his ringlets at ten.

This time comfort doesnt taste and smell and move freely like sheets

it smells like cedar and reeks of regret.
wishing i had never picked colors from a catalog
and stood still so long somewhere else..years ago.
i am so fucking scared
i cry all the time and cant catch my breath.
why am i building the house i know ill never really live in?

what if.
what was
who was she?

there must be a reason. what are we hiding.
there must be something
for him to hide and me to find.

her photos haunt me while he sleeps.

where else is she. what was it like, was it worth it...
im breaking my neck looking
and im ruining the only security ive ever known. and been shown...

if only i'd have listened to his dad
and his friend
and his mom and
the bartender

I am living a lie that has never been offered to me before

My ultimate fantasy.
He said
You are my soulmate, my love, my wife to be.
This is
our life
our dreams
our home and our dogs
our fence and our molehills

i have it all.
my insecurities are everywhere.
and i am hating myself.
i am hating a brazillian escort and the friend who told me where to look.

of course its all my fault.
i should have trusted him more

wishing i hadnt been devestated the last 8 years of my life.
maybe then i wouldnt ask so many retarded questions.
and push him away... if only he would..

want me

not her.
i never want to see them again.
i cant speak portuguese anyway.
im never waiting til marriage again.

Thursday, December 20, 2007


Sunday, September 18, 2005

10:00 AM - perkins
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Romance and Relationships
still uninspired i left him there.
in the same parking lot where we had our fourth last goodbye. looking around i was wondering "had anyone been able to see what i couldnt before?"
was this fucking stinking cloud surrounding us blurring my view of the sidewalk?

after breakfast, smoke masked the smell of him on my shoulder. i could see the flags and smell the coffee and hear more clearly now these well rehersed lines of "forever i"ll love you and i swear i'd never"s, i had forgotten where i would stand.
I had no recollection of how i got there again.
weakened by half an arm slung around my neck and a finger on my lip that was NOT quivering, his camel had extinguished itself somewhere behind my head in my hair i didnt care. it could burn there smouldering like we had again. and again.
it had only taken me three minutes to smell his smoke before i walked away

first written fall of 2004

3 naps and Totinos

3 naps and two party pizzas later, i still have not found any money in the couch cushions to pay peter so he can stop borrowing from paul.
i thought id seen him last night. in a place more familiar than home, resembling the wall just cold, dark and void of all emotion.
but it wasnt.
and that is great.
and each one gets easier and i move on freely.
the he and him and you and her is always different and they sometimes run together. its such a good thing that most of it is so untrue. i have no elaborate plan to tell the truth. just to ramble on about feelings that i make up along the way. (?) like this.
we stood in the doorway nearly an hour that day.
the automatic doors kept opening and closing like his hands on my heart. just squeeze. and let go. squeeze and let go. open, invite me in, close and hold tight, open. close. open close. let go. just go. hold and let go
in and out and on thru the creeping door.

if we never move on, will we allow anyone else to walk in...
we just stand there with nothing but a cheap dollar spot in view...

until we had said enough and i had to walk thru.
alone and cold i walked towards the carts and turned. it was the kind of chill that shows on security cameras and makes a man handing over a cart blush. He says "maam your nipples are showing". with his eyes and i shiver. everything on the surface is hard when im alone. and i know this stranger sees some warmth, some hope i beg, oh please, i am not dead. or am i? must i question every fucking thing
and it stinks in here
"Does every stinking Target have to smelll like pretzels and cheese?"
So i changed my direction and headed towards something i had shared a few times with a girl i once knew sometime after high school. this cheesy comfort and salty hard mess of twisted dough had wrapped itself around around my fingers and i lusted after this new sensation. "please please take the feel of his hands off mine. If only for a little while, just let me be warm and cheesy, saltless and short thirteen cents"
And so i ate alone. and i thought of her. and i thought of so many who i serve no purpose or function in good times. i serve no one. i have been served by a 17 yr old kid with pimples and a faded shirt that now resembles my toungue. all dyed to match the color of cherry frosts and the hair color of a stylish girl i'd met at bar once.

Everything under my chin

its an appropriate amount of numb. A measurable tangible amount of non feeling. or not. god i dont know what i feel. If I werent numb already I would be by now. What am I?
There is nothing brushing against my face again. nothing against the cheek i cant feel and the chin i cant hold up on my own, i am melting into my own tingling nerving nonexistance.
I have no one to sit with me while I am still. I am desparate to feel it. Hit me, once twice or six times. Pinch me awake to function. Roll me over and let me breathe. Give her back.
I am at a loss for words. I feel too much loss to actually feel.
now what
I picture myself standing in front of someone, anyone taller than I.
Standing with my face in his hands looking down. The numb side of my jaw cupped in the small palm of his right hand. My hair just brushing the top of his hand as he holds my ear between bony fingers. All I know is, there is a thumb on my face, and I should be aware of so much more.
And he becomes you, as I becomes one defiantly fragile part of we.
And we are just an energy waiting for your love to keep us.
We stand with empty eyes hoping to take it all in. This bigger picture, this bigger part of your plan. Can you visualize the guilt on our shoulders?
I never want this honest moment to end. See right through me as we become we all.
Hold us there until I can feel the pressure to crumble to my own knees before you. Come with me to the floor and hold me there. Hold my chin up while I have no thoughts. Feel my warm tears.Take the pain of those years I've seen and those I could not, can not, hope to not have to--- help. God help her, and we and him, her again, us and I.
We need you right now.
her suicide has killed me too.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

What are friends for, eh?

i realized, im standing a little more to the right this time.
next to this hole she is digging for herself. the shit im standing in gets deeper as she throws harder and faster failing to see what shes about to fall into.
i cant brush myself off fast enough and im the only one getting burried.

Moving on was easy

May 2005

some last words..
like a wall i walked into you. cold and unseen. in her words i was "spellbound at the sight of you". beautiful and grotesque your face brushed mine, in passing for only one hot moment. one and two and sixteen and thirtyfour. i fell asleep in your arms again that night. for the thirtyfifth and last time i was safe and sound rising and falling with you in rhythmic motions like your breath in waves..awakened again by that damn train.. fuck that damn train. it had once again slammed into the side of our love boat. how did that fucking train cross over water? i thought i was safe this time where we couldn't be splattered....and i could fall asleep. that consuming comfortable like no one else can make me kind of sleep with you again. were these not the most happy, tumultuous, & devastating times? if wet and overboard define happy.. then yes.
i have very much come out alive as we often do with dreams, sudden, shaken shivering and alone. Ive put you behind me on solid ground. locked behind closed doors with concrete floors empty and dry like your lips that morning. Ive never been happier..

Graduation day

I once asked a girl how her day had been.
Back when.
She had turned 18 half a year before me and we...
of course,
we had it made back then.
She offered me her hand before lowering herself to the floor onto her bony knees in the bathroom of her momma's house.
I slid down the wall without letting go...
I dared not let go of this hand I held.
I shook while I lit the end of her half smoked old cig. Leaning in, I could not stop thinking about how pink her lips looked right then. I could not forget to remember how they puckered the day before when i lent her my shiny new gloss. The kind with all the sparkles and a shimmer like my nails against her wrists.
I had held her there. Watching. Wordless. Worried and weird about this and that.
I knew why.
Under a hat she hid. She and a bottle or six.
Something about a boy. And something else, maybe a girl. More fingers and toes. Lips not yet pink. Sniffling.
gone she said. like he had already been.
This life was gone. As we knew it.. "it" was just just just blood on the floor in a place colder than the wrists she threatened to cut. I promised not to let go.
So I held her there.
Something about a bottle or six.
I felt the blood on my hands from listening so close. But I would hold her till she could take off her hat, pick herself up and sparkle again.

Saturday, December 1, 2007

Nothing was everything when I left...

Rambling re-write 2006 (a totally different subject)

She undertsood the desire.
Urgent napkin poems and matchbook phone numbers.
Holding a bottle with only fingertips and sipping through puckered thin lips I knew she was hiding something.
She said, "I've sunk. I thunk.. once twice, too many times."
She melted there with me. Deeper in to the depressions I had once called my life. So full of promise. Promises.
We hid beneath the clutter of dusty old magazines. Images that never come out clear. We cover ourselves in Cosmos and make up our eyes. We hide behind her bottle and hope for the best.
Pictures blurred visions expectations lacking looking through teary eyes back and forth and back to the floor, we end up there. Flat somewhere helplessly photographed and embarassed.
Constantly blinking and thinking, can I ever wonder too much.
Drinking and thinking and loving her disease and the ease of not remembering yesterday and that there may be no tomorrow.
One can only hope.
We sat silent. Sorting through papers, reading into my past.
Destinationless ex's and lies called editorials, inconclusive research and unfinished poems.
I didn't think I'd be here again, smoking with gum in my mouth.
My favorite line ever...
Cigarettes like my feelings for you have gotten way too expensive.
Speechless scribbling watching pens lie and cherries die, I have to get outta this smoke. Everything stinks and has smouldered around me like my heart heavy and settling like ash in a glass I can't see to the bottom and there is no help for her that has said too much.
I have so much more to say, but it's time for me to go to work.
To gather this combination of things, and escape, new beginnings. Regain control and beg to feel nothing.
And nothing would be everything to me.