light rain

raining crystal
shards of light jumping
exploding into crowded black
isolated governments of sharp
pieces of energy
petrified fire
white lines with no halo
no glow
but sharp edges between opposite
ideas that spark

It is the time I spend alone most favored and most hated.
Not all at once, but separate bliss and terror.

valor

keeping things
even from yourself
riding on the high of self-justification
of sour grapes
of self-assurance

ride it like the setting sun
ride it triumphant into darkness
embrace the cold
you still burn from bitterness
you independent furnace.

ride it as long as you can
be happy you have something to burn
you will need it traveling sunless
or suffer feeling what's really heating you:
nothing.

the sum of parts

I wanted to learn.
But things I learned were shattered by feelings.
Knowledge was tested by joy and pain,
two teachers with new ideas, with new knowledge.
Knowledge came into me and fought its own.
I learned and unlearned the lessons of living,
admitting it was all true, though all in conflict.
I knew less and less the more I learned.

Knowledge was a shattered picture,
and none of the pieces went together,
a puzzle of oddly shaped parts
and no answers at the edges.
Knowledge was plural and unsympathetic to its parts.
I stared at the pieces, all crying for validation
and could do no more than admit their existence.
I couldn't discard or embrace one over the other.
I knew nothing singular.
I had no title or definition for all the pieces that made me.
I lived in a constant struggle for finality, for definition,
for one meaning.
But I was many,
and torn to pieces as I learned each one.

Steve, Jess, Sara

When I had the best, even the worst was gold.
The blizzard that turned our faces white
and froze the tops of our feet
only made us warmer.
The smell in that hostel made us laugh.
Money was paper; ice was water.
I couldn't be made to realize a frown where I saw it
or a sigh when I heard it.
Loneliness was an ancient word; yearning--even older.
A language lost to time.
Fatigue was a peaceful lure; neither dream
nor reality could be told apart.
I was safe from fear
because I couldn't lose.
I had them,
And they were everything.

slate

I get sick when I remember.

My stomach churns the undigested pieces of you, the pieces you forced into my mouth, the jagged slate of your affection. I choked while you smiled. How could you smile? You saw my throat convulse. I bled into the napkin you provided and forced appreciation. "The bad is good for me" you made me say a hundred times like sitting in at recess writing lines. But the bad was bad for me. My poisoned blood was foreign to my veins. I almost died.

But I didn't die. I was saved by mirrors. I saw the person I once knew, the one defined by me. It's not your fault I believed you, believed I was something else . . . for you. It's not your fault I avoided mirrors. I let you own me, but I missed myself. I never should have left me; I should have left you. I should have taken care of myself. I should have loved myself enough to be alone.

But I believed a lie
And I get sick when I remember.

half lit

Blue notes from a half lit heaven
Blue wood to hammer steel
Vibrate in a blue root-seven
Two notes to make me feel

the party

lively music
raucous sound
wishing washing smiling clowns

sprinting to
racing fro
shouting things you think you know

eating fast
getting done
searching for the next thing fun

looking far
farther still
missing everything that's real

The Weather

The weather. It's come to that. I guess it was bound to, sometime. The interesting thing is how long it took.

It was always strange to me how some relationships played out differently than I expected. But the expected will always happen, unexpectedly. Time and circumstance are the only unknowns. The rest are constants. And always more constant than I'd like. I will lose her, even when I don't at first. Someday the only thing we'll talk about will be the weather.

I knew this would happen. The moment I crossed that line and turned to watch the ground split behind me, I knew. But things happen fast when you don't know the future. And I turned around to face the sun and forget the canyon. Then sunshine dimmed, but promised to light the way. But how could it light the way? What sunless night has substance enough to guide me? What natural laws did I really think to change? The darkness darkened all around me the gaping whole I would have to cross. And I waited for the sun to rise again. But it didn't. It never does. I had to descend, then rise again myself and make our worlds worlds apart. From so distant she asks me how the weather is, tells me she is shining again . . . without me. "Without you" is all I hear. But I am tired from the climb and haven't lit the sun again in my world. Her words hurt me.

I wanted to hurt her because she hurt me. If only I could be sure she was the last to suffer, to pine for the former, to reach for what's no longer there--then I'd be happy. But not really. But kind of. Because my power to hurt is the inverse of my power to heal. And everyone needs to heal someone, just as much as they long to be healed themselves. But I had no power to do either. To discover this absence is to lose what it feels like to be alive. The bottom dropped out of my world and I scrambled to stab something and hold on to the grip of my knife . . . or I would fall for the hope that love would catch me somewhere else. I let myself fall. And the knife too.

But landing is as rare as sunlight during rain. Love is sparse and floating all around me like moving baskets in the sky. I've tried to catch one, to time my fall just right, to angle gravity. But it doesn't work. I close my eyes and hope that fate is real.

songs

would you come for the music
for the ideas
and the smiles when we do something
no others would
would you be in the shapes
in the colors
of ideas we talk about
would you sing to me your song
a different one
than all the ones before
would you hold me in your gaze
but not too long
would you make me run
but not too far
would you bring the world
but not too close
but close enough I travel to you
travel with you
travel in you
'til I see the new colors
the new shapes
the new ideas
and the new music
would you write me with the notes
and wash me in the sounds
Make me sing the new song

retribution

I should pay for what I've done

And she will make me pay it.

For each time I concealed a gun

she will make me pay.

I should lose what I hold dear

And she will make me lose it.

For every sadness, every tear

she will make me lose.

I should fear deep loneliness

And she will make me fear it.

For all the apprehensiveness

she will make me fear.

I should feel the pain she felt

And she will make me feel it.

For each touch stolen, each touch dealt

she will make me feel.

miss someone

motivation to stay active, busy, focused--

miss someone.

miss someone so much it hurts to stand still.
so much it hurts to leave any of your faculties alone
to inflict the pain they want.
so much the dagger of a deadline cuts shallow
compared to the axe of absence.
so much you fear the moments of rest
or the loose wandering before sleep.
so much you focus, you focus, you . . .

you still miss someone.

just bones again

old again,
not young.
It's youth that surprises,
youth that comes and goes,
youth that makes you anticipate its leaving.
But age is constant,
it's always there beneath young feelings.
If you are feeling young,
don't worry
you'll get over it.
You'll feel your age again,
you'll be in pain again,
you'll ache again, you'll cry again,
you'll be alone again.
I don't worry about the next time I feel young and free--
that's the doggy-treat I might get if I'm a good boy--
I worry about finishing the treat.
I worry about feeling hungry again,
feeling my situation again,
feeling my nothingness again,
feeling the truth again.

Happiness is the meat,
sadness--the bone.
and you can gnaw on that forever.

falling

I'm falling out of context
I'm falling out of line
I'm moving into reflex,
sporadic all the time

At first I had the memories
At first they drove me on
At first they gave me Sundays,
made right the things gone wrong

But summer turned to autumn
And winter followed fall
The distant sun was handsome,
but silent, cold, and small

Then lifeless all the pictures
Then lifeless friendly words
Then lifeless all the fixtures,
the constant things, the cures

For nothing saved me from this
And nothing held it back
No memory could have barred this,
the emptiness, the black

If you can't feel the sunrise
If you can't feel the sea
If you can't feel your friends' cries,
not even ones from me

Then sit still for a moment
Read Galway’s poem, Wait
Feel swept inside the current
of hope that wills your fate

At the Bus Stop

At the bus stop
I hate the bus I missed
And curse the one not come,
But welcome the wait
And in it the time to feel.