what'd I'd like to say is good job on that thing you did
because nobody could have done it
or would have even thought of it
at least nobody I know
who besides you would've taken the sun
and stretched into a halo
to keep your ears warm in the winter?
only you, only you
which is to say, I love you for who you are, not just your celestial earmuffs
if I don't blow off some steam
I won't be able to sleep
with a billion degrees piling up inside my veins
my dear world, there are things about you
I just don't know, so I close my eyes
if I got everything I want (I want so little nowadays)
it'd be three days for sleeping, two for running, and seventy seven for lying next to you
and eighty-nine for watching the sun come in through the window in the living room
in the road I stepped with
no intention of anything beyond
total love
like a stream of water that wears down an impossible rock
and a bird that flies through the greatest storm that can twist the heavens
if I am changed beyond recognition, it is only because I have changed along with you
every scar you've gained all these years, I've mimicked accidentally with a falling vase or misplaced knife
every infirmity that shakes your grip on life installed a matching crack in my house
but my foundations are firm, I have built on our love
out in the road, I looked up
had my gaze caught by the windy sky and felt grabbed
hooked around
and I realized this: that all love is a question, and death is the answer
now peace reigns, and I am your husband
oh my god
I didn't write a poem for class today
I didn't even remember what it was until I read the prompt at the top of the page
What's my problem that I can't take ten minutes to crap out some verse? or jot down a rhyme like this one, scribbled in class while Kort speaks and reads her poetry
you're so mean when you want to die
you say you're ready but you don't know why
don't you hide your pain from the whole wide world
Don't you miss the days when you used to swim?
with she and her, and him and him.
but the water has no beauty now, no faceted diamond glints
you don't think of anyone but yourself,
you're a bully and a **** and a beautiful person
when you're out in the light
It's a little sick the way you're so weak
and your weakness has everyone wrapped around your finger
even you
you let a black hole grow inside your chest,
if you don't block it out it'll eat your air
you will choke and die
like butterflies pinned open
or lit from within
I grasp at straws while pigeons crap all over the rooftops
this is a cafe scene
I have holes in my shoes, and 7 bucks fewer in my wallet
you've got a dirty look on as you answer yet another text
it's not much of a date, I'm certain
but like butterflies, we are perched here for the world to see
snipped out of our meadows, car exhaust preserving us
the night comes all the time,
but we don't die when the sunlight drags itself down the wall with a heavy touch
and the radio sits, waiting to sing
and the kettle burns, all the time
but it doesn't scream out without reason
while the trains pass not a hundred yards away shaking the walls of the house and kicking dust up into the sun
glass bottles sit all the time
flavoring my food, dreaming like an animal
I grow twisted when my body grows larger
People live in the Midwest because there is a certain kind of beauty in watching things die. In the South, things die and grow all at once, in a kind of continuous cacophony of nature. In the middle states, things are born in the spring, grow in the summer, die in the fall, and all is a graveyard for the winter. Some people enjoy this; it is in their natures. Their genes resonate with the boom boom boom boom of the changing air, the cycle of scenes, the rich metaphor of weather patterns. For others, this chokes them; they need everlasting life. But the europeans, the folk in whose veins an understanding between them and death flows, they enjoy the battle. They feel in their bones that, while they might not live forever, they can live through death-of-the-land for many years, as a way to prove...something. I am not sure yet where I belong.
I am going to try and put this down
I am going to be the scribe to do this shit
I am going to take a keyboard and a blog and pin down my emotions, the fear of the trap, my instinct to burn burn all the old away
I am going to make you understand the sickness I feel when I think of staying where I am for one second longer
I am going to do something drastic and beautiful that will blow the thoughts of the people that know me open for a second before they start to close again
I am about to thrash and kick in my computer chair and dash outside in a desperate attempt to escape, before I slip on some ice and freeze to death
I am going to do this all as soon as I can get myself together, I know it, I just know it
