This Morning - 8/30/14

You wake up.
You're already tired.
It's not a groggy, hazy tired - you can feel this in your bones.
In your marrow.
You convince yourself to rise, to hump through the motions of the early morning grind.
You leave for work.
You're ten miles gone before you realize you haven't eaten, haven't drank a thing.
You convince yourself you have the time to stop at the coffee shop.
When you enter you already feel the familiar anxiety.
People are staring, talking, watching, waiting, listening, chewing, sipping, typing.
You order.
This is all too much.
You receive a drink and a smile.
You turn a corner to privately make it Irish.
Before you pour, flask in hand, you catch a glimpse of faces in a window's reflection.
The sense of shame and self-loathing wash over you.
In this, your darkest moment, you find that time has stopped.
All motion halted.
You cannot move.
They cannot move.
Your eyes can hardly focus between the flask and reflection of yourself.
You live your despair for hours.
You are weak.

Shine - 6/18/14

Trace the outline of myself

Beg you to see what I believe

There is so much more to me

Than I can ever prove

All I can do:

Sit back, hold fast

Head high, lips tight

These lungs fill

This mind wanders

I am tumbling through this sky

I can’t see anything

I don’t see anything at all

But I can feel you

Eyes shut tight – feel everything that is

Nothing here is new and nothing here is ours

Everything bogged with life

Resplendent with now and afters

There was something here before

Try to remember – try to see

I’m as good as blind

I am tumbling through this sky

I can’t see anything

I don’t see anything at all

But I can feel you

Eyes shut tight – feel everything that is

Weary souls stained and tired and cold

Ever hopeful and glancing at the sky

Magnificent all

They shine and stumble

Living terrors as dreams

I know they will find better

These fingers dig into the earth

Lips meet the soil

Embrace the solid ground

Eyes bleary but finally seeing grey

Retrace the outline of myself

Awe - 6/4/13

Those words, simple and precise, have rattled in my head for a lifetime.

It’s hard to recall what really started this process you might call it. I think it’s been coming on for a long time, I just couldn’t thumb it. I could feel it – really feel it – in my bones. I still can. It’s so deep it feels like a part of me. It is a part of me. Maybe it just is me.

I remember when I was young, when we got that trampoline. I said I was going to jump to the moon. I asked mom if she wanted me to grab her some cloud to hold onto. She smiled and said yes please. She looked at dad but he was busy with something else. I asked mom if she thought I could get to the moon and she said absolutely. She said I could do anything.

I bounced until my legs throbbed. I had worked out how to jump the highest. I got the timing down just wrong and flew backwards to the ground, headfirst.

I never reached the moon.

I remember when I was young, when I started smoking cigarettes. I had myself convinced I was doing it for me. I was doing it because I loved the pull of the smoke. I loved the smell. I loved the way people looked at me. Mom asked me why I smelled like cigarettes and I patted my pockets and pulled out a mostly empty pack. I bet it’s these. She said I could do anything.

The shame tugged at her face, weighed it down. I felt my heart pull.

I smoked a bowl in my room.

I remember when I was young, when I bought a Honda. I spent half my time in the garage. I deconstructed the piece of shit at least three times to put it back together. I spent half my time in the car, driving away from town. Driving to other towns. Driving to parks and lakes and outlooks. It was raining and I got in a wreck with oncoming traffic.

I awoke to blinding white enveloping me. I heard sobs of why him and cries of please help. I was in a lot of pain. She said I could do anything.

I drifted.

            A few months ago I realized something was inside me. I told you I could feel it, but it’s more than that. I can hear it, it’s calling to me. Signaling me to shore but I ignored it. No, I didn’t ignore it. I fought it. I couldn’t ignore it. A nagging at myself, my being, my whole. I tried to make excuses.

            Like a lost child stumbling into his mother in the store, I discovered. I acknowledged. The things in my life – the events, the happenings, all of the occurrences, the thumbtacks the strings loop around – are not random. They are not chosen either. I am neither destined nor arbitrary. I am. I serve a purpose and yet there isn’t. I make a choice and yet there isn’t. I could do anything. I could leap for the earth. I could poison myself. I could jerk the wheel to the left. I could do anything.

            “Death is the road to awe”

  

            It's time to walk it.

The Thing You Were to Me - 6/1/12

We don’t know it but one day we will look back on all the stars and clouds that we watched so closely.
We will remember the time we had and it won’t mean a thing.
We’ve been lost for years but can’t admit it.
We’re treading water and we can’t resolve it.
You brought this world upon me, love, and I don’t know how to face it.
I remember when I first looked up and you were shining there: a husk of silver in this maze of shit.
You showed me the way and told me
“Don’t you ever look behind you – there is nothing there for you.”
I grabbed your hand and clung so tight.
We were almost out before I lost you.
I must have sneezed, I must have dawdled.
I could see that god-damned light but you were gone and where could you be?
I didn’t search for you.
I fled in silence.
One day we will remember the time we had and it won’t mean a thing.

The Precipice of a World - 5/1/12

It was our last day on earth and I wasn’t ready for what came next

I didn’t know how the world would end

And I didn’t ask

I waited for you to join me

I stared at the sky.

It was our last day on earth and you held my hand

“This is what they sang about

This is what they wrote”

You wrenched at my hand

You were trying to find that perfect grip

Your grip

My hands were made special for yours

Just large enough for you to settle in

And you tried

But my skin was tight and lined with sweat

And I didn’t recognize your touch.

It was our last day on earth but I couldn’t feel your hand

We stood at the precipice of a new world

“Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s new”

You were right.

It was our last day on earth and I couldn’t find you

I asked everyone I saw

They looked sullen at my words

Or perhaps solemn

I never could read people

I never had to read you

You were an illustration in a sea of text.

It was our last day on earth but it wasn’t ours

I’ve been waiting for your return for a very long time

But I don’t think you’re coming back

You once told me:

“Steel yourself, you never know what lies ahead”

You said:

“Baby, we’re driving a car with two steering wheels,

We’re going to break apart,

But we won’t know until we’re both skating on two wheels”

It is my last day on earth and I’d give anything to see you

I don’t know why you’re not here

But I miss you.

Bidder (rewrite) - 4/20/12

The people were hidden six feet down
The streets were packed with cars and trucks
The buildings cracked 
and crumbled in atonement

“What hell have we beckoned”
“Does anything remain”

The sky was bleak 
A violet haze clung 
unflinchingly, unseen
beyond the gloom of clouds
and the earth was scorched

The sun flared silently
Then turned its back upon them
Not even the cosmos would accept this civilization

“Never has the weight of the world seemed so light”
“Does anything remain”

The clouds fled in fear of end
And the sun was still not there
The air was still,
Our hair grew undisturbed

“How can I believe”
“Nothing remains”

We are still here
Nothing more remains
We will be swept aside
“Dear god, what hell have we beckoned”
“We have always taken more”
“We will always take more”

1/14/11

what the fuck do you believe in