45

The air is getting louder

Coming in with a harshness 

I don’t remember hearing

It jars me

Lately I have been catching myself 

Grinding my teeth

I will myself to relax

It is an effort.

What is it to weep ?

It is a sad poet who has no words to express the feelings welling in their veins, no way to leak out the madness which gathers in the corners of their mind and chambers of their heart. 

How, when the shadow strikes, does a wordless poet allow themself to feel, to weep? When they know it will still live there, roaming through hallways and edging down corridors; timid, ruthless monster. 

It has many names, this monster which has taken up residence within my senses. I call it grief, or loneliness, or abandon. Although, the years have taught me it’s truest incarnation is my old, timeless friend, rage.  

Hazy.


The other night I was sitting at the bar

Talking to a person who I am seeing, but not dating
Because these days, that actually makes a difference

We were talking about the space in between
Where thoughts happen and where they occur

What I mean is, the thought that inspires the thing
And the place where that thing becomes itself

Which is the truth?
Where is the truth?

The truth is in the space between

Which we will never fully grasp
Never quite see or catch
Hazy, but
It is also in the beginning and ending
Truth lives in all three
Birth and death
Life being, of course, the space between

What we can’t see
Where we can’t see

I dreamt I went shopping the other night
I was walking down the aisles of a grocery store
The light was bright, garish
Overwhelming

I couldn’t find what I was looking for
I can never find what I am looking for

I’m the type of person who has difficulty lighting a cigarette
Always standing in the wind, stifling the flame
I strike the flint once, twice, three times before shifting
Positions

Trying again.

6am

It’s six o’clock and I’m tired of the way you make me feel, old and hungry and sad.  A useless combination. I cleared off my desk today.  I like to pretend that it will help me work.  If I have a space, dedicated, committed.  I like to use synonyms, back to back.  Because life is all about nuances.  Slight differences changing one thing from another.  A truck stops on the side of the street. To let pedestrians pass. It’s snowing out. They walk, arm in arm.  Linked. Should they fall, their fates are likely intertwined.  Unless they’re lucky or strong.  Folks don’t seem to be both anymore.

Bon Nuit

You tell me goodnight in five different languages

sleep clings to the edges of our eyes, of our lips

your voice scratches out the words

hoarse from loving and laughing, at each other//with each other

I ask you to repeat it in Russian, your native tongue

I want to hear again

how your mouth forms the words

want to watch your lips push them out

I love to watch what your mouth can do.

Small Talk

It’s an interesting feeling. Learning you’ve spent months falling for someone who could actually have never loved you back. One of those, “huh.” moments.

I’m over here feeling myself out, talking to my emotions like,

“Yo… are we good? Cuz I feel fine. But I don’t want you coming back here in like, six months messing my shit all up. Talking about ‘missing them’ or ‘broken hearts’ or whatever. Like, I’m feeling good…so…we good?”

And it feels like they’re just looking at me like,

“Yeah. Ok. Have you MET us? Good luck kiddo.”

Certainty

I ripped up the photo of us

I took it off my altar last week

 I don’t know if I regret it

Ripping it, I mean

I can always print another,

If I want

The pieces landed on my guitar

I don’t think it was intentional

I was feeling petty and small and

Just a little bit trite

I can’t tell if I miss you

I’ve rebuilt the wall around my heart

Only concerning you, and a few other

Unmentionables 

I think it’s going to take me a minute

To come to terms with losing you

I had high hopes for us

My childish view of love and 

Relationships shining through 

I don’t want to have to say goodbye

To be conquered by fate and truths

Too harsh to be faced together

It’s important for us, it would seem,

To divide and conquer

Fate has other plans for us

Maybe we’ll get drunk together one night and

She’ll whisper them in my ear

Explain to me why we came together

Only to fall apart

Unsatisfied.

Unsure.

Letter to an Unnamed Lover

I had a good day today. I laughed often and drank good coffee and tried a new beer. It was good. Made with coconut. I sat at the bar and stared at the writing on my open notebook page. Words written while lifted with pot and booze. Something about my heart and the universe and the connection between the two.  

I talked with some strangers. Women. Beautiful. They seemed extra human to me today, set against the backdrop of a sort of nightmarish reality I see forming around me. Their eyes seemed brighter somehow…I don’t know. 

I’m writing you this letter because I don’t know who else to turn to. I need you now, in a way I’ve never needed anyone. I need you to rise up and meet me. To light me up, rip me open. I need you to teach me how to be human. How to have passion. 

How to connect.

I have a broken vagina. It stopped working months ago, well, years ago. Truth be told I’m not 100% certain it got hooked up properly. I need you to repair it. I don’t care what you’ve got to do down there, but make it right.

I know it seems like I’m asking a lot from you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I don’t know who else to lean on. I’ve known you for so long, and you’ve carried me through so much, I just need you to be here for me now. I need you to tell me I’m beautful, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, dust off my knees when I fall down. I need you to be my steady voice of encouragement when the world just seems like too much.

Because the world seems like too much.

I need you to do this for me. For us. For this. This wild, maddening, gorgeous haze we call life. Because, lover, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I promise. And I need you.

Paper

She was my salve,

Healing.

Bridging a gap…

I dismantled all of my journals

From back then

Sketchbooks too

I ripped out pages,

Tore some, burned some,

Saved some.

I

Stripped them of their

Collective power

Or so I thought

Paper,

I find, has a long memory,

It is not so easily lost

As we might wish,

Paper has power

I was so enthralled

Caught up in her and

Content to stay that way

Lost in a perpetual state of

Heightened torture,

Painful excitement

I was so committed to misery

Committed to wanting and never receiving,

But no, it was more than that,

More than suffering and sadness,

We shared moments of quiet

Moments where the air seemed to sizzle

Words exchanged were charged,

Moving between us,

Creating friction, building energy,

Until we couldn’t take it,

Until it cracked,

Like thunder

After rumbling hungrily in the

Lightening bright sky