(n) indulgence in aimless thought or dreamy imagining
Stars dissipate above and below.
I’m watching you move,
silently, now.
Horizon ticking by,
violet-orange bruise,
tender to the touch and yet.
You make it a habit to revisit those colors,
hoping to close this distance,
resistant to you.
The ache subsists,
I’m set adrift,
river-dark bleeding I’m
dreaming of you.
To remember:
He said I’m his best friend. And wonderful. And he loves me so much. That he doesn’t love me any less and he misses me. He said he always wants to talk to me and he always wants to hang out with me. He said I’m a huge part of who he’s become. He said that I’m beautiful inside and out. He liked my awful shaggy hair. He makes me feel beautiful no matter what. We were crying and held each other and he was still able to make me laugh, despite everything.
Push and pull
Out of control
Well let’s go since you seem to know
The way.
Between the click of the light and the start of the dream
When it ends,
Before it ends,
Will you keep me here in your mind
For awhile?
(Hidden away in the pocket of a daydream)
How much is too much to ask of you
I was hoping we could talk it through
Before you’re gone with the morning
Not sure I need to mention it but just to be safe: line five is from the Arcade Fire song No Cars Go, which is sort of what propelled this poem.
There was a Young Boy whose grin,
Reached up passed his nose and his chin;
A dog saw it spark,
And yelped with a bark:
“Help! He’s drank all the gin!”
Hello. It’s been awhile.
I used to cry over the lines
At my ability to draw outside them.
Whether it was pen,
Crayon,
Marker.
My concentration would slip
A breath,
Hairline fracture,
And imperfection would strike again.
So why, after all that,
Do I find myself stuck
Wanting nothing more than to escape
Those lines I tried so hard not to break
Feverish skin is reigning in
Cool nights start to tame the weather
It’s good to have this back again,
Autumn’s never a bummer.
Even when things are touch-and-go,
(Lost, apart, the “I don’t know”)
I’m able to find comfort in
The scents of fall, the color.
Deep orange,
Cinnamon hue
Toothy grins are carved into
Front-porch friends
Chocolates and,
These ghosts are friendly, now.
Our old memories go out to wander the town
What if in the end
They cut us down,
And all that’s found is the rings.
The circles presenting our being
Our our repetition.
The only thing left of our potential
Rotting there in the ground.
By the end of Sisyphus Part 4 I didn’t know who I was anymore
Ageless and nameless I melt in the rain
You’re doubting me, timing me,
Daring me to get up again
And is it any wonder when I do?
Do these failings still come as a surprise to you?
In a minute I’m busy.
Some thoughts they surround me
I’m barreling through the rain:
Waiting to be caught.
Wilting under and then growing into the pain
I’m finding you;
I’ll be home soon.
Look for me sighing,
Somewhere under the moon
I think of things that scare me
Sometimes in the dark of night
A scratching at the window
Is all it takes to switch on the light.
I creep around, keeping watch,
Making sure every bolt is safely locked.
I know it’s a silly notion,
Living on the third floor,
But
Sometimes still I imagine a shape,
Silhouetted beyond the balcony door.
Bruised
Used
So confused
Never know who I’m going to lose
Waste of space
Time and place
Dusty orange sunsets accent outer space
Matter of time
Lose my rhyme
And I can’t find the reason, anymore.
