how to justify

it was the first time we'd spoken but my tongue felt

loose instead of tied it was like instead of drying up

our conversations just got less conducive to people

it wasn't an interaction between humans, but ideas:

because over the past four years our thoughts have

never changed. I could always predict the next word

to exit your less-than-beautiful lips. the only change

was to the supplementals, in our reactions; the way

I shifted when you pressed your leg up against mine

or how I don't watch you anymore when you speak -

you boasted improvement for the future but I didn't

respond, you could say I'm not as optimistic as you

(at least not anymore) and, besides, I know myself

and neither of us can gaze in the heart of the other.

it was the first time we'd spoken, but my heart felt

less gulping than grudging. you seized the future,

but my darling, I'm still struggling through the past.

XX---

If you can find the pun in the title... you rock.

Internally

You agreed with me

You said you felt old

And that the sun was sapping our strength on that field,

And that we shouldn't fill out forms.

You agreed with me, once again

You offered something repetitive of yourself

And told me I'd be happy (I think)

And talked about yourself.

Let's agree. Let's say I'm happy

Let's say we both worry about money,

And four years isn't so long.

I wish I knew what was inside of you.

I wish I could touch something

You didn't mean for me to see.

X----

rainbow bones

I wanted to show you the confidence you might expect from these rainbow socks.

I wanted to walk in to a gust of music and let it wash over my body like light

and be filled to the brim with assuredness.

I wanted to smile into your eyes and show you

how easily all my features settle together when I am happy.

how instinctual it becomes to wrap my arms around another human when I feel loved

when I feel home.

I listened to the first bass drop from the towering speakers,

and I wanted to slip out of my shoes, and my cape, and my skin,

I wanted to let the sound waves crash through my bones, rattle them into a rythym,

take the floor with some sort of unadulterated joy and remind us both that my feet dance by themselves

and my hands' motion feels smoother than silk

when I know the song.

what I really wanted was to walk through that door, my friend - that thin-plated door -

and throw off my cloak to show you the adult I've become.

show you the eighteen years of flesh I've built up inside, a flesh of feeling and self

a flesh that knows how to leap into the air and how to open itself up but apparently not how to dance

not even in the rain.

instead I walked in and barely remembered how to exist here. how to feel safe

how to feel like dancing with my feet off the floor.

I'm sorry how my eyes stayed on the ground, even my smile,

I'm sorry that I felt as young as I used to before I owned these rainbow socks, it should have been different

I wanted it all to be different when I saw you again

but all I could think of, looking at you,

was how very similar we are.

XX---

It's Been __ Months

It was a lie of conviction, that one year was long enough.

I s'pose I understood better... but I was still wrong enough.

I poured my life out in music, composing halves of our duet,

But the only singer was I: and I'd heard that song enough.

A self-isolation, blocking windows, cutting friends

Sixteen months in seclusion: now am I strong enough?

You tried to gather me up. Wind me back onto your spool

I'm your toy, your possession; but now I won't come along enough.

I climbed into your lap, I fell into your arms, and I felt it -

But I can't sink back into your heart. Now I'll never belong enough.

I've come to terms with your absence. Your shadows are gone

But do you know? How can I ever prolong enough?

 I thought life would get better, I thought the past would all fade

And it mae. I wasn't wrong - but I was still wrong enough.

XX---

How to Get Found: A Guide to Driving Home

Step 1: Feel a little lost inside.

Start out somewhere you love and leave through the front door like you always do

And let the dark night air overtake you as you are pressing the key forward in the ignition,

And just as the engine grumbles into motion realize

That you don't want to go home.

As you pull away from the curb and orient yourself realize

That you don't want to leave this car,

This perpetual motion machine that is aways in suspension between one place and another,

You want to stay in limbo, you want to stay in flux,

And it's not that you don't want to go home it's just

That you don't want to be anywhere, you want to be in transit

Without a destination or a path.

Step 2: Take a left turn where you usually take a right.

Find a familiar intersection and forget the turn signal,

There's no one else on these residential streets at midnight,

Take the mental map of your small, small world and start filling in gaps

Like that road behind the park that might be a dead end

Or the other end of your best friend's street

Or just take a left turn where you usually take a right

And see what happens.

Seek out the twistier hills where you can speed

At a whole four miles over the 25 limit

And make it feel like mach 2

Flip on the radio to the most auto-tuned pop you can find

And every time you turn onto another street you don't know, turn the music up a little

Until you can advertise your adventures as sound waves through the windows

Scratch that, roll down the windows and try to catch the wind in your fingers

With both hands safely on the wheel.

Step 3: Start to feel a little uncertain

Drive for four full minutes without recognizing where you are

Take six left turns and still end up on a different street every time

Try to catch a glimpse of the street signs as your headlights flash past them

And peer into the dark for landmarks

And after thinking you've finally found yourself three times in a row

Make the stunning realization that all LFP streets look the same

Every time you begin to feel the endorphins of mild panic in your system

Throw your head back and laugh

Even when you aren't sure you'll find your way out

Step 4: Escape the labyrinth

Begin to turn onto only larger streets

Seek out neighborhood arterials and be surprised when there are other cars around

Which might actually know where they're going

Use your well-honed survival skills to support you:

Trying to figure out which way is North is fine

But turning around is illegal

Go ahead and attempt to use the position of the moon as a crude navigational tool

But mostly make turns based on momentary whims

And eventually you'll find your way out.

Discover yourself in the opposite direction of where you expected

Or possibly back where you first began.

Drive down a familiar road and lower the music until you can hear your heartbeat in your ears and then

Step 5: Repeat,

Get addicted to the rush and the bass beat of the next song,

Crave the freedom of letting go of decisions

And the relief of finding home.

Step 6: Exhaust yourself with exultation

Intoxicatingly concentrated within your little metal container on wheels

And point yourself towards home.

Let the music quiet as you tread through familiar waters

And take an unusual path to your driveway.

Roll down the concrete like you've been on your way home for a few minutes,

Instead of an hour and a half,

And sit with the engine off to hear the last song out until it ends.

Climb out of the seat and walk through the dark

And take the usual path to the door. Spend the rest of your foreseeable night

Being predictable. Wrap up the hour you lost inside yourself,

Without telling anyone,

And try not to regret the gas bill.

XXXXX

All I'd need or ask for

A little serotonin

A little time alone

Is all I'd need or ask for

In order to go on

I don't mean to be serious

My world's spinning straight

But I only need the answers

When it's lonely and it's late

A little seratonin

A little time with friends

Is all that I could wish for

To make it to the end

XX---

Originally thought this up as a song, loosely to the tune of "Crucify Your Mind" by Rodriguez.

sthguohT

Spill out, letters on digits in columns

Or at least in rows, magazine clippings I

Cried. Labels I want you, I want

More than your address I tried to add it up

I balanced again, ancestral savings and inflation

And where to stay. Too near

Jumble, anagram thoughts into cohesion or

Not, headaches

Headaches hunger I

Cried. I didn't have anyone I

Postage stamps wanted but used, only

No longer sticky I'd like scales

Please weigh my emotions-- my future-- my fears----

My hyphens, heavier than

Jumbled. Anagram my thoughts into

Cohesion, or

Calmness, or

Not.

X----

to the undecided

I counted out my confidence in paper bills:

creased into thirds, they enveloped fear

lakes lead to rivers through mountains, through hills,

skimming past my new town. too small, and too near.

I planted belief in the bright summer hours

they grew by the light of the late winter's moon:

empty water, flat, alone and empowered -

the silent stroke, the sunrise soon

straps on the car and a box in the seat

no passenger room: the lap belt is gone,

I'll miss you. no matter what lives I complete

I'll miss you. you'll always be dawn.

XXX--

four white corners

counting pictures on my wall, one two three

how many memories will i take with me

one drawing, two lists, four photographs

the first disc i was given, my first wookie as staff

a candle, some feathers, what stays behind

a note that she wrote and a poem that he signed

or the prints that, like family, hung over my head

for fourteen years, they watched over my bed

i can't take these white walls, that i wrote on in pen

or the ceiling i walked on, again and again

i don't want certificates or the poster of snow

the quotes can all stay but the art must all go

mostly i want the deep dark, the night air

give me feelings of home: the rest, i don't care

but i'll miss all the promises of this room

the cast open drapes, the sunrise view

and all the things i wanted to do

(like give that painted rose to you)

my future, in brief, is contained in one thing

a tassle of green, gold and blue string

and when i shut the door on this room for good

i won't give up nearly as much as i should.

XXXX-

Rely on Me

I wanted to protect you

Like older siblings are supposed to.

I wanted to step between your shouting and tell him to stop

Because I know you're a good kid.

Even if I'm the only one who says it,

You're a good kid.

I wanted to take her place for a moment

And act like the hero for once in my life,

Or drop my bags and run over to where you were

And shut down your father's attacks.

I wanted to fix it, my friend,

I wanted to let you know that someone's on your side.

I wanted to be more than your buddy, to be your leader

And show you that you could rely on me.

Instead I turned my head and walked away.

I wanted to fix it

I wanted to protect you

But I told myself there was nothing I could do.

XX---

A Wish for the Lost

I had hoped the rain had stopped for the year

(A silly thing to think of, in April)

But today when the mistings sent us scurrying indoors

I was glad you were among the friends

Watching empty-minded movies with me.

I spoke of the ugly skies because I was wishing

That the weather would be kind to you.

I know you must be missing

The sun and the warm place you call home

And your chilhood house and your parents

And everyone you know.

I tried to take you in to a circle of people

And let us lend our body heat to yours,

For when the winters get cold

But I'm not so sure we've pentrated your insulation.

Thank you, for smiling on days that I think you want to cry.

Thank you, for sitting in a smooth bright classroom everyday

And letting us have hope for you.

Thank you, for thanking us

Like we've done something real for you

Even though I don't think I have.

This was my hundredth attempt:

I was trying to wish the rain to stop for you.

But there were too many prayers for it to continue,

From the Sound and the plants and the earth and my people,

And among them my longing got lost -

Like you.

XXX--

Fix My Self

How do I fix... everything?

I have three boys standing in front of me, and none of them are okay.

Each of them is a rent in the fabric of my team

And I don't know how to sew them up.

This first one, he is an arrogant self-defeatist

Who isn't mature enough to own up to his haircut.

He makes me understand where the bullshit about sports teaching "responsibility" comes from

Because he would be kicked off any team in the school except mine

I guess club teams don't have that sort of power

Or maybe it's just that when you're grubbing for players at EVERY double header

You don't let someone go if they actually show up to practices.

This boy is half socially inept, half play-acting for attention,

And I can't always tell those sides apart

But I know that I can't take away this place, where he feels like a part of something,

For a reason so piddling as my happiness.

This second kid, he wants to correct EVERYONE

(Maybe as much as I did at his age)

And he's more ignorant than he understands.

But even if he is sometimes a little jerk,

No one deserves to be yelled at by their coach every day

And no one deserves to have to stay silent about it.

I wish we could separate family from sports

Like church from state, so this boy

Won't have to give up the sport he loves for the sake

Of the father he doesn't always.

And this third boy, well, I barely know him

All I know is that he can't seem to keep his pride to himself

That, as the newest edition and the shakiest player,

He likes to correct his captains

And pretend to have climbed the social hierarchy.

And I wish it didn't rub me so rawly

That I resort to being short with him. No one deserves a captain

Who judges before they really know.

So to my original question:

How do I fix everything?

How do I take three boys and seven slightly less dysfunctional human beings

And make them work together?

How do I work around your humor, his pride, their friendship

And most importantly, my own arrogance?

How do I resolve problems around

My own blindness? All I want to do

Is fix everything. All I want to do

Is make it perfect. Make everything perfect.

I have these three boys in front of me,

And none of them is okay.

Each one of them has me to blame. Each

Could say that I'm the one who's unmanageable.

How do I change myself to help them?

How do I fix everything?

X----

Freeverse Love

"My type?"

I got asked this question in a circle of girls who each knew their answer

Down to the shade of brown of their man's skin,

But all I could do was repeat the question: "My

Type?..."

I like, long hair, I like, confidence, I like.... girls?

But let's be honest that's not a "type", that's called an orientation

And narrowing it down to 51% of the 7 billion population

Doesn't really help.

I don't know if I really have a type, but there is ONE thing

There is ONE thing, when my chest starts filling up with words

And I want to write something real about love,

When I'm speaking only in iambic pentameter

And I want someone to understand,

When I'm quoting Hamlet

And I'm waiting: for someone to quote it right back

Then I remember

That I want to fall in love with a poet.

I want to be written love letters where every word is a prayer flag in the wind.

I want to send emails that are as eloquent as air

And text messages that connote something beyond one hundreda and sixty characters

I want to hold afternoon conversations in elegant freeverse,

Make "sleep tight" a sweet sonnet serenade

And stumble through our morning coffe in stuttering haiku.

I want to compare her eyes to storm-surged rivers and

Her body to Aphrodite's before the plastic surgery,

I want holding hands feel like pressing your palms against sunrise windows

And I want catepillars crawling up my spine when we kiss but mostlly

I want to be able to say "stop the date because we need

To go home and get in bed -

So I can write down this word-perfect line in my head"

And have her understand.

I want my wedding vows to be alliterative

And my adoption announcements to allude to King Solomon

I want her to be my rhyming couplet,

And I'll be her juxtaposition

And I want to fall in love with a poet

Because they know how to breath life into words.

Because they know how to make printer fonts dance.

I fell in love with a poet, once

But she started writing prose instead.

And these days when I read her dialouge

And mark her risng action,

I miss the hours we spent composing summer-soft sentences

Where daffoldils melt into sunshine

And never put a period at the end.

But life is no sonnet, it is freeverse

And it trails on past woe and joy.

And I still want to fall in love with poet.

Some days, my words take me high enough

That I wonder if I'll meet her

Through this poem.

XXX--

Bundle Me Up

In your fingers I feel like glass. Vulnerable

To the shakings and sharpness of life. In your fingers

I feel small, even though my sneakers

Make it obvious that I'm the taller one. In your fingers

I want to feel like a child. Bundle me up,

Tell me not to run in the street, and

Smile when I'm afraid to leave your side. Please worry

When I have been gone past supper. In your fingers

I feel young, like when I didn't know what loneliness was

Like when the future was more open than anxious. Please

Carry me up the stairs and tuck me into bed. In your fingers

I fit neatly. Bring your hand to your chest

And hold me tight against your heart. In your fingers

I am smooth-skinned, my elbows the hardest surface

On my body; in your fingers an arrow

Could slip through my skin like it could satin, so keep me safe.

Cup me between both palms and whisper nothings,

Like a gardner to their seeds,

And treat me like an egg within my shell. In your fingers

I lose my poise. I get nervous, so

Gently ease away the mike, and keep me silent. In your fingers

I just want to listen to your voice. Please

Tell me a story. I'll gather up every word

Until you say "Goodnight". In your fingers,

I might be able to sleep without dreaming. In your fingers,

I feel so ineffably safe.

Please, disregard my age. I know I turn

And adult, today, but in your fingers

I am still a child. Please

Bundle me up,

And smile when I'm afraid to leave your side.

XX---

Indefinitive

I am a child with a gun.

I am a war waiting to happen and a solution in one.

I am the sum of my parents.

I am the best two humans could do to recreate themselves.

I am the buds on bushes,

I am at the break-even point with the rest of my life.

I am the star whose light hasn't reached earth yet.

I am the edge of the known.

I am history's next Hitler, next Ghandi,

I am the orator with a world on her screen.

I am an exothermic reaction.

I am excited particles in an open plane.

I am homeless by choice.

I am a roamer of only the least travelled paths.

I am seventeen, for two more days,

I am a stereotype down to the quiet self-esteem.

I am late nights and early mornings and caffeinated tea,

I am pure potential.

I am purer than the devil, darkly chaste,

I am unmeasurable.

I am more than just the sum of my parents,

I am my own vector.

I am the child with a gun.

I am the war waiting to happen, and the solution,

In one.

XX---

From the Couch

Eyes close

My chin tucked to collar bone

One light is still shining through my lashes

Fists balled up

Curled into myself like a cat

Nestled here between pillows on the couch

Clothes on

Warm from my blood

Too late to change now, everything's soft

Eyes close

Mind blurs into dark

Remind me that it's late out tonight.

X----

What a TERRIBLE poem

It's History

Do you remember the night I fell in love with you
Under sleeping bags and high ceilings?
I lost my nerve when your fingers touched mine
I forgot how to breathe

Do you remember the night we slept in your bedroom
And stayed up with your arm across my chest?
I didn't mention that the bed was too small for two
I didn't want you to leave

Do you remember the night you kept giving me more time
But I still never gave you an answer?
I tried to figure out how I felt, I swear I did
But everything I came up with was lies

Do you remember the night I confessed it to you
And how I finally fell asleep on your floor?
I woke up early and watched you lying in the sunlilght
I'd been feeling lonely for months

Do you remember the night I insisted on staying next to you
And you didn't disagree?
You found me in the livingroom the next morning
I had to stop watching you sleep

Do you remember the night I told everyone about you
And suddenly everything felt better and worse?
You weren't there. There were twelve of us in the dark
But only one put her hand on my head

Do you remember the night she asked me if I called it love
And I admitted I still wasn't sure?
You were in Seattle somewhere
You didn't know I was moving on

Do you remember the night you held my hand as we walked
And I kept my fingers loose as you held tight?
You didn't notice my silence
Neither of us knew this was the end

Do you remember the night I fell in love with you
And never talked about it later?
I guess it was a long time ago now
I guess you can forget it if you want

XXX--

Stroke By Stroke

The blue and silver flowers on the envelope

You duct-taped every edge in purple

The way I read each word stroke by stroke

And held the crease between my fingers

There was duct-tape on every edge, purple

Like the color you are painted in my head

I held a crease between each finger

And read the pages two at a time

The color you painted in my head

Rust-gold, like your story about the wind

Reading pages two at a time,

I orient myself by your coffee stains

Rust and gold and your story about the wind:

Each traversed oceans to meet me here

If I orient myself by your coffee stains,

Will my world grow so far?

We traverse oceans to meet right here

Our letters are the lines through which we touch.

Will my world ever grow as far

As the way I trace maps with my fingertips?

The answer is this letter, this line that lets us touch,

With blue and silver flowers on the envelope.

It's the way I trace your map with my fingertips.

The way I read each word. Read stroke by stroke.

XXXX-

Honesty

There's too much on my mind to write a poem.

I don't want to write about college or the future or debt or decisions or deadlines,

I don't want to think about money or a summer job or unattainable friends or turning 18

Or any of the other thousand fingers of thought in the entrance hall to my brain, but I'd rather

Mull on any of those than think about you.

I don't want to dwell on facebook photos of you that wallpaper the back of my mind,

I don't want to tell my friends about your journeys or stories or life

Or mentally steep myself in your words and gentle reminders -

I won't be waiting for the next time your sparse quotes appear on my screen

And no, I wouldn't wish to say your name into the phone any more

Than the once I've said it this week.

I don't want to read my to-do lists or emails or award announcements, or even my blog,

But I especially don't want to read a letter from you

I especially don't want your name to greet me out of the mailbox at tomorrow's check,

And I don't hope you included lists and wrote stories and made promises.

I hate it when you make promises.

It's true, that I don't want to talk about poetry or companionship or my kayak,

Or about silence, or denial, or regrets,

But mostly I don't want to talk about you.
And god, I hope I don't get the chance.

XXX--

Twilight

I stepped outside with the
Recycling, and everything felt like
Twilight. The sky was still
A faded indigo, the color of
Twilight. The air was
Warm at noon, now
Softly chilled to the temperature of
Twilight - cans and bottles rattled
The air as they fell through the
Top of the bin, clashing through the
Indescript feeling of
Twilight. My feet were bare, sculpting to
The soft pavement of
Twilight, I stepped slow to the
House, and I pulled soft shut the
Door, cut off encompassing air
Of twilight.

X----

Scaffolding

I know it's technically April now, but I did write this poem on what is still MENTALLY March 31st. So it still counts as my Day 0 poem, darn it.

My thoughts are walled up behind

Rebar and concrete. Enclosed by

The shaky scaffolding of a future

Being carefully built towards the sky.

My words are wrapped up in

Blueprints, sheets of constructional 

Calculations, so esoteric the

English language can no longer

Translate them.

The clarity of mind I held in

Such high regard when my head

Was a meadow, an open field,

Undeveloped,

Has fallen by the wayside as bulldozers

Level the ground and architects

Draft piercing towers and engineers

Lay the foundations and the

Scaffolding. The miles of rickety

Planks on pipe on concrete feet that

Supposedly support it all.

Standing under these steel skeletons I

Can catch glimpses of the far-off

Horizon, and at the summit of my 

Scaffolding I can still reach to touch

The sky, but I know as the walls

Close up those open frames, my

View will slowly shrink until my

Gaze is stuck firmly to the

Sidewalk. I know my wallless world will

Become confined until I can't

Leave this city any longer.

I understand.

I want it to stay this way forever.

I like to scale the massive I-beams and

Sit above the world, feet dangling,

My hand holding a bit of rope in case I

Fall. I like to balance on these naked

Two by fours, walking the gap between

What will one day be buildings. I like

The way my scaffolding looks like

Spiderwebs, and with my hands reaching

Up to the next bar, I can become

The spider. I want my world to remain

Unbuilt.

Let's stop construction, at least for

Now. We'll throw up shanty towns

Instead, little lean-tos and shacks in the

Shadow of my skyscraper skeletons,

Only meant to exist for a month or

A year or maybe

Four. Nothing permanent, nothing

Made of iron or plastic or steel -

I'll live in wood houses with

Tin roofs and sleep under

Tarps when it's wet out, and every

Day I'll take my hammer and nails and

Walk through my unfinished towers to

Just keep on building my

Scaffolding.

XXXX-

2013 Kickoff!

I'm happy to be back in April 2013 for my third year in a row with NaPoWriMo!
Look forward to some angsty poems about the future, many dissertations on my current life, several idiosyncratic science metaphors, and at least one made-up word.
Good luck to all y'all fellow WriMos out there: may the poetry-writing begin!

$200,000

1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 5 zeroes.

My future.

I see it laid out before me in numbers, but not in money.

I pay the 1.25 bus fare every Tuesday night,

I have $1,000 worth of kayak-shaped plywood in my basement,

And if I dropped EVERYTHING today maybe I could get a job that pays $20,000 a year, tomorrow.

That's 4 zeroes.

But as for those 5 zeroes, that two hundred thousands dollars -

That's different.

Yeah, I see it in numbers, but not in money.

I see it in years.

I see it after my first 17 in a hopefully long life,

I see it from my 26th, and LAST, semester in the public school system

And I see 8 more semesters up ahead.

Yeah, I see 4 planned years before me,

But I see the potential, too, for years beyond.

I see 27 month Peace Corps tours

And 4 months as a ski bum,

I see 6 weeks spent in Europe and 1 climbing Mt. Rainier

In my future, I see a 6 year odyssey of travel, of exposure, of life -

But not in those 5 zeroes.

Not in that crippling debt.

In that I see 4 glorious years and 1 decade of soul-crushing worry.

I see a straight path where

4 years of college becomes 2 years of grad school becomes 40 years of work -

But I don't see the less than or greater than symbols, I don't see the variables, where is my choice?

Because let's be honest, numbers can't quantify how I feel about that debt

It's feeling like you're so far underwater you don't know if you'll ever resurface

It's seeing your future stretched out before you and adding two - brick - walls -

It's hearing the hesitation in your friends' voices and wondering, if they are as scared to hell as you are

Because there's no way

You're getting out of this

Whole.

But -

What am I saying.

There's 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 - 5 zeroes.

But - they're just zeroes.

They're nothing to be afraid of

If they're nothing

At all.

XXXXX
(This poem is really meant to be PERFORMED, but I don't have footage of my reading, unfortunately.)

Little Reassurances

Tell me it will all matter, someday.

Tell me the world is still spinning.

Tell me the truth would hurt a little less, if I didn't lie so much.

If I absorbed words and stayed quiet.

Tell me that after all this, it will still be the same tomorrow.

Tell me 17 isn't young enough.

Tell me the rain is still and the earth falls towards it.

Tell me I'm alive. Tell me I'm really, really alive.

Tell me the world is small and the world is big and the world is mine

Tell me you're mine.

Tell me anything. Tell me whatever you want,

As long as you tell me in that quiet-real voice of yours,

Which tells me it'll all be okay.

XXX--

Diffuse

Somewhere along the line I started

Trying too hard.

Some days I want to turn everything into a poem, but

Those days nothing gets written down.

Some days I just want to speak. Perform everything

Like it's spoken word or it's slam or it's something,

Even though it's just words.

In the end it's all just words.

God, breathe in breathe in.

Don't exhale. Just breathe in, in,

Don't stop. Let your breathe diffuse.

Some days I pretend to be profound.

It helps me sleep.

It helps me dream.

When every word is precisely significant -

Well, that's a comforting thought.

It means this, too, will fade.

God, breathe out breath out.

Don't. Just don't.

Thoughts diffuse like

Light. Through the blanket

You threw on to keep it from waking your parents.

Starlight doesn't diffuse. It doesn't lose itself through the lightyears. If only

We could be so strong....

God, just shine, shine. God.

Don't stop. Please never say you'll stop.

Unfocused. Like water spreading up through paper, diffused.

Softening it's resistence to the world

Making it unusable.

Making the ink blur, blur. Smear and dull.

Let's run away. Let's exist in letters and pens,

Let's case ourselves up in envelopes and send them over oceans.

If I was contained in these pages, would I be happy?

As happy as I seem between their lines?

God. Don't ask that.

Just write it and be done, send it and be done.

Don't live in those - that's not the way to breathe.

Let go, let it slide down the mail slot.

I want to turn all the lights off. One, two, three.

Let's be black for a while. I have this crazy idea

The night sky will fill up with lights.

My phone is going off. A doorbell song

A jarringly slow jazz number cut in elecronic tones.

And that means love. That means life, means reality.

It's something hard to hold onto, those tinny little notes.

They cut into my skin.

Ah. Breathe. In and out, for once, breathe.

Be even. Let it all flood in and recede

Simultaneously. Don't ever fill up.

God, don't let me fill up.

Let's take the bus again. I like it when the doors close

It feels like coming home.

Like locking the deadbolt.

I don't mind the one twenty-five fare, just

Leave me the transfer slips.

I'll pin them on my wall with your name.

Fading out. Like radio through mountain passes,

Struggling to hold on. Wanting desperately to float away.

Don't try the tunnels, they never work.

They never, never work.

God. Ah. Ah, I am alive. I forget sometimes.

If I lived within this keyboard, would I still?

Would the letters slowly diffuse over my surface,

Form an even plane of words?

Scattered. Like stars, like starlight.

It retreats into your eyes, eventually.

It's traveled so far and it seeks comfort

In those little glass domes. Give them rest.

Then send them back, so they too

Can come home.

Home. Sometimes it feels like my own.

Tonight, it feels still, with the lights on.

Sometimes a thought comes out, and bleaches in the rays

Let's turn the last lamp out. Let's go dark.

And let the light diffuse.

XXX--

Shoulders

Well, the rain fell like

Straight pencil lines,

And my tight shoulders,

My tight soul unfurled

Blossomed like

Like something poetic, maybe a flower,

But for now just call it an umbrella:

Inverted, filling up with rain,

Its little hands gathering up the drops to

Hold them close to its center,

Its spindly branching heart.

Tomorrow when I twist up out of

Spiraled blankets on my bed,

My shoulders, my soul will

Wrap themselves back up

Into sea-shell whorls,

The folding blades of my bare back

Turned towards the glass-cold sky

That gold-melt sunrise sky

That reminds me too much of the summer.

But for now, well, the

Rain falls in

Straight pencil lines,

Graphite marking up the

Dome of sky above me;

And my shoulders, wound

Into spindles around my soul,

Unfurl; like something poetic, maybe,

Or for now let's just say like

A ballerina's bun,

Her hair spiraling out of its tie

To fall heavily down

On her shoulders.

XXXX-

Definitely Not

My head hurts.

My - frontal lobe, it's aching,

No not from - the calculus work I was doing,

No it's not from this

iPad I've been staring at - I

Think I'd know the difference -

No, my

My head hurts

My head hurts not because I've only

Gotten - only - 6 hours of sleep each night,

Not because I've been

Filled to the tip-top, to the peak of my skull,

To the ends of my hair with

Stress over the future,

No,

That's not why it's

Just that my

My head hurts

My head really - hurts -

And it's not

It's not because I ate less dinner and

More toast that

Inexplicably included brown sugar, it's not

It's not that I've been indoors all afternoon with these

Piercingly inorganic lights no it's

It's not for those reasons it's that my

My head hurts

Just that my head hurts

Because -

Because of you or maybe because -

Because of lack of you

My head hurts

Because I

I wish so goddamn desperately you were here and I

I can't pretend that this doesn't feel like

Living "normally" -

This wash of numbing - of dulling -

This ache that is only that my

My head hurts -

My head hurts -

Because you're not

Not here with me -

No not

Because of the caffeine in that

Chai tea I drank half an hour ago, but

Because that tea

Reminded me

Of you.

XX---