Thursday, December 26, 2013

i've been meaning to ask about that.

[My eyes and I, we don't always see the same, we don't always seem the same.
It seems I've lost my propensity for foresight, for farsightedness, or any sightedness for that matter.]

Can we really calculate our catharsis into twelve steps or less? I'd bet on it.
 I'd better, for posterity and self-preservation, but there's really no fun in playing cavalier for pretend.
But, while we're bartering, I'd trade this in for any old love song. I'd trade this in for any basket
or barrel of words exchanged with anyone willing to hear it. All this language inside me is pleading to
bleed into vowels and sounds and keystrokes, and I don't have to chase them out with my tongue.
I can be unnerved, and send all this words out to the curb, into the night, into the universe, vacant or not in the night.

You can bet they're out there,
Gunning for
Looking for
any signs of science, for any signs of a hope and colors and rays of light,
You can bet they've all been there.

When the sound slides back on the crest of its wave, we'll hear of the harrowing adventures,
chasing ghosts in Southern New Mexico, the bold Southwest colors of the tablecloth, the Apache pendants,
all these things our songs and words will bring back.
And I'll carve all the answers into this hollow in my chest, gaping and manifest.
        Finally, you arrived.
        Fine, you were right.

God is it odd for a Thursday night, but won't you tell me a bit about yourself?
Anyways, there are a few things you should know before the show. All these things I say to stay sane, I don't know how much I mean them or how much they can mean to anyone but me, but I have to say I'm here
because I'm out of God back home. Now that I'm all grown up, welcome dear, welcome dear to your own home. Come a little closer.

You can bet I'm out there
looking for
any signs of you, any signs of a glimmer of brown eyes and rays of light.
Before all my words come back home.

Monday, December 16, 2013


[i've wandered days through this town.
i've wandered my way to the very brim of things.
i've found no solace in solitude, but i've found no other incontrovertible truth,
except this unending emptiness.]

i can't spend time with you without wasting mine first.
you're gone when you're here, and i'm left listless
nights upon nights, and i'm uneven and without trust,
without uttering a word. we slip between the sheets
and separate over awkward sentences. we shallowly touch
but we leave with unending force.

i'm better than leaving and longing than anything else.

i can't start my day without thinking about you first.
you're here when you're gone, and i'm half away
day by day, and i'm upended and without spirit.
there are no words for this distance, this absence,
the ghost of something real we shallowly reach for
and abandon with unending force.

i'm better at alone than anything else.

i can't sleep the same without you here,
i'm home when you're here, and we're half awake.

there are no ghosts or bodies in your space,
just a relentless void when i reach for you,
reach with unending force.

i'm better with you than anything else.

Saturday, December 14, 2013


[does any of this depend on me or meyabsence?
when you're writing for introverts, does it really ever matter
about good fortune or coincidence?]

hail mary's, ave maria's, choices and tattoos,
catholic, or distant and filled with doubt, we've all been
heartbroken and filled with every sense,
but we find, we're fine
and we will our way through it everyday.

are we valiant and cavalier?
harboring affection, it's the way we're raised -
to be ashamed of all the ways we feel alive,
but we keep holding on.

we say novenas for the all the people we feel
we've lost, and we're not sure where we lost out -
and you say  apprehension is the sense you can't
ignite, and that's fine

we've all been heartbroken and filled with doubt.

but we find, we're fine
it's our will to to wind through
we're fine
it's our fate, we'll be cavalier
and it helps us.

we will our way through it every day.

nerve endings

it's not getting that late, i won't confess.
all these nights so far, they color our differences,
you're less than i require. you're spread thinner
than all of my unjustified bar tabs across the town,
across the oil belt, and i won't feel happy,
i'm not willing, to share your time with anyone else.

i've already worn holes in some of my clothes,
waiting for you, thank god for hand-me-downs,
thank my lucky stars
for shit that fits too tight.
this itch of mine, will it
help me survive all these nights i've missed you?
will you be willing to share? or are you below the
required years to hear, i won't feel content,
i'm not willing, i've got polygamy to abhor.

these winds will change you. easily.
wait, it'll change you, when it feels right.

i've got open nerves, i've got terminals,
i've got synapses randomly firing, raring back
to meet you. so far, it colors us both electric blue.
you're from across the tracks, and your shock
echoes and magnifies my surprise. we're finally
indifferent to our differences.

trust that, in time, this cloak of social and economic
difference will evaporate with mercy. we're not that different.
we're not that different, but their aversion, it hurts.
my newfound feelings for you will eventually accumulate,
across my heart, and i won't feel happy,
until you're willing to share your time with no one but me
the sour taste
the sour taste of time.

these tastes will change you. easily.
this sleeping flavored tidal wave.

don't avert, this will change you. easily.

shades of us, shades of something new.

don't avert, this will change you. easily