My brain sounds like the inside of a house
as rain pours down outside, the hush of torrential curtains
drowning out words, thoughts, feelings
and only the drip drip drip of the crying overhangs and
windowsills keep pace
the beat says:
there is battery acid running through your veins now
that is the feeling of truths gone untold
unspoken words left hidden
the hurt of withheld love and withheld revelation
burns and boils now, I hope it a cleansing fire
tear out my youth expectations traditions
I owe you nothing, world
the creator owes each of us everything
for putting us in this empty room

I am calm, calmer, floating in it
gulping it down like it was uncanny elixir
some emerald truth serum, some clear courage
I have only this now
this particular now
and when you answer, I will say this variation
of this increasingly common refrain
you are right to be angry, for facts and prejudices
cannot be concealed or ignored
not for long
and your protectiveness is wasted on me
and mine is wasted when it comes to you
You and I have never known the other’s heart
even though they are the same
So, just show up and be here
you owe me everything, including this
showing up.

Splits in finely polished pieces
they have always been there
but the discovery—so far as we discover
that which has been already—fertilizes
the cracks in our foundation, hearts
and now what to do with such things
that cannot be papered over
cannot be fixed with on-sale goods
we name our sinful celebrations
after days of mourning and despair.

Hopes, like heroes
do not suffer reality
only fools.
How much so I am a clown
mockery of enlightenment
antithetical to stated selves
words spoken can only be laughed at
by you who can still see truth?
These privileges and dollars
credit a braggart with little else
and little

Each day finds new faults to ignore
The glare is sharp
broken is the wrong word
for imperfections always present

I feel the pieces distintegrate
spontaneous evaporation
dried fragments bleached of color by
long days lounging in harsh ultraviolet
these fragile bags that carry us.

We see hawks, an eagle perhaps
as we barrel northbound on gravel and asphalt
anchored by fire and steel and oil
what envy our souls feel
diplomas provide no redemption
to those who never taste the sky

Should I be much concerned then
of signatures papers words?
Our truths are felt
and so this static lies heavily
upon my drooping eyes

Such weariness as only joy brings
ticking toward midnight the upward hand
gives all it has until, no more
the gears of time turn endlessly in the same direction
relax, this will take as long
as it took to get here

I remember finding it a little off-putting
the strength of it all, the sheer force
expansive, foam in a car on a hot day
or how you imagine a fire extinguisher would work
not ever having myself used one
Surrender to animal urges
and we might make a human out of you yet

Find it in this very instant, this three dimensional frame
allow yourself to be distracted
and everything slows
here is where I determine how long we ignore
before the next scene
don’t waste memories on material
bound for the cutting room floor

Even then
young though we were
prettily named still stunk of rot
weighed down by disuse that came after
invasions displacements
you can pretend I wasn’t loved before
but even salt-water stains
and if you found anything cutting into me
you never did tell

Such high hopes in that early dawn
bones scrubbed dry as a monument to
a new order, grids and straight lines
but rulers measure only as well as they are made
and Enlightenment ideals feed no children
pay no wages
fix no maddening leaks and hacking coughs
this is no side street, this is the true center
here men died on their own terms, rather than
to fix your original sins
of which
there were many

Rinse and repeat
truncheons and hoses
all the same color washes out
fist in air, in gut, in pain
it was all begging to you
bleach and green
more than one butcher came through these parts

No need to get sentimental
We smile in summer sunlight and lie
no longer named as woman but much more so than ever
what you have wrought
keeps the dogs at bay
now as you ever have
since we were young.

Opaque and tinted in unpleasing tones
my polished veneer disguises
organs blown of air and fire
but lacking in force and heat
Settled is not always content but
it is always
inertia.

Now then, leave your mark upon me
smeared lipstick imprints
marks me as loved
or at that very least desired
wiping it off seems foolish now
as kisses seek firmer surfaces
life being best lived, not preserved
this is an adventure
not a jam

I do not take your words as mere breathes
tonal exhales as the atmosphere departs then
enters again
tides rolling with the regularity
I can only concoct in daydreams
or in mythical pasts we share

No; these are matters of gravity
or curved space-time
the movements of bodies
seeking easy paths along their orbit
and great force is required
to change the momentum
each thought observed observes such norms
though norms alone do not make decisions on our behalf

Can’t believe these jokers want
to make this love versus hate
might as well bet
on the Washington Generals

Thus the inevitable
we discover via gossip teevee
a.k.a. The most trusted name in news
that Dude was a bully in school

Twixt a nation of wedgies, of
harassment of criminal proportions
and a Jedi master’s diversion
The consistent liar wins every time.

I am not sure I will be able to write poetry anymore
when things get normal
When I am not treking these thousands of miles
a migratory avian path
even geese know better than to attempt
more than a couple times a year

Scrawling in this pricey wrap of scraps
I feel a rush of illicit activity
white white commuters
on their way to lover’s land
to microwave takeout
delivery
others’ psuedo nutritional efforts into
ever growing waistbands
consumption driven love and skeptical jealous eyes
my print is illegible to both of us

These words are anchored here
or at least tied with relatively reliable cord, intricate knots
finding my need to escape into fiction a laughable proposition
these belts of mine stretch
and loosen
but I keep putting them on voluntarily
jungle metaphors make orderly work of any excuse
for procrastination, at least
when it comes to
buy buy buy
Homonyms are no antidote
to the Muse’s fickleness

I am drunkenly meandering through my twenties

My charge card and fake ID supplementing tutoring stipends is a pirate’s trove of plastic bottles graduating to too big to split tabs at bars where stealing souvenir glasses is factored into the check graduating to cases of wine at charity auctions dinner party piled onto my bed and friend-inherited couch but mostly bed in a a studio where you can hear monkeys at night if you pay attention

But I never do

Graduating to living cliches shots of whatever to prove that I’m alive through the haze of discovering existence life both more and less preformatted a wonderland of good decisions that will never be regretted, just the same as if they were never made graduating to here’s the TV show we all were promised and never lived and we sip whatever tasty tasteless brew we are handed sweating in cellars like the wannabe rockstars we are and dancing into Tuesday morning surrounded by Freaks and freaking and then a last hurrah of sadness vomiting out every finale that was ever aired into the night air, finally sobered by your words and words and I am done with meandering.

This is the last time I will come to
visit you
after this it will always be leaving or
coming back to you, finally
(or, more likely, you to me)
And there will still be fresh cut
blossoming of surprises that you can sometimes
look so striking straight into my brain

And there will still be tears and hurt
in seasonal downpours needed
to relieve the gloom from our collective atmosphere
and sunshine will follow
and I will mutter trite cliches and hope you
read feel see the heart brain central nervous system
that is hooked to you
like I am to roasted bean juice
There is no ending after this,

When the euphoria ends
sitting silently, slight headache
waiting for the next thing
is this a good time to bring up
all the things that mildly irk me
or do I just sit here, silent
now and in perpetuity?
don’t cast a shadow over
momentary glories
by bringing us back to earth