Thursday, November 12, 2009

the magic prince

I'm willing to bet
if I could see the inside of your heart
there would be little blue Christmas lights
strung up on the walls
and ten pairs of your old shoes
in sizes far too small
that you didn't want to throw away
I bet that if I
could see the inside of the places you find yourself
there would be broken bicycles
lying in the grass
and the air would smell of old paperbacks
I wear you on a locket around my neck
you would never know
I keep it closed.

Monday, November 02, 2009

twilights

make me a place
where a kiss isn't a promise
where the sky is red
the spindle trees are cottton white
show me a path
where age always leads to wisdom
where the lakes are violet
the fish are neon green
I want to dance all night
where a firelight is all we need
where we never grow tired of walking

Sunday, November 01, 2009

the seesaw takes two

once I asked for your heart and
without hesitation
with pure blind excitement
you pulled it over your head
and placed it in my palms
your heart
made of black cotton
it smelled the way you move
soulful.
sweet.

kissing like crazy
on the rain slick streetside
we've always had the very same rhythm
a mutual trespass through porcelain gates
into the cavernous mouths
our magnetic tongues would search and search and search
never quite finding
our definition.

back then I was leaving
and you were just going home
I watched you strip that veil of indifference
just for a moment and you said "don't go"

I wanted to ask you why
why I should stay
why we can't be
why I'm this way
why you're so dazzling
but I just told you I had to.


and now I think something has changed
or nothing did and you've just grown tired
absent
absent
absence
here for just long enough
but I'm growing tired too
I can't call out and then wonder
I'm too old to play with sometimes friends

I want to hold on because
we were like red coal
like too hot metal
and I can let it change into something different
I'll still have you near
and that's all that matters
but I've been doing all the trying

my hands are tired from grasping
my voice is hoarse from asking
my ego is bruised
and beaten
to beyond recognition
by your new lack of enthusiasm

maybe somethings weren't meant to last

Thursday, October 22, 2009

to keep you warm.

When I close my eyes now
Every time I do I can see you out there
on that vast and churning ocean of cold
surrounded by dark
you keep crying because you're so scared
and I know I'll never be able to reach you from here.

how do I miss a sweet face
when It was never more than a glow
how can I mourn a glimmer

and your little house fell down
because I built it from moldy wood
that was supposed to be your safest place
so you trusted me and stayed inside
and it's only me I can blame
and I do every minute.
and it's only me you can blame
And I wish you would

so far out there in the night
floating farther on your lonesome raft
the only thing you know to dream
curled up without a blanket
is a kiss before bed that I can't give you.
you don't get skinned knees
and tire swings
or fireworks
and tadpoles

Because you don't get to be here
and that
breaks my heart every day.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Transience


I went searching the streets today
For you mainly
I ended up in all sorts of places

I walked along and let the warm soak deep into my skin first
Tracing
I walked twelve blocks in this heinous hot hot heat
I tried to feel what it’s like not to be able to afford one moments solace from it

That’s dedication
For someone with an aversion to sun


I thought of how I imagine you

A dog with mange
A filthy half-breed mutt who runs the streets both night and day

so I spent some time looking
Down manholes and into alley ways

and I spent all my thoughts on visions of you
Foraging for food
And clean water
And adoration
From any little girl who will take you for what you are
Beautiful dirty damaged limping thing
With a talent for making her feel fiercely protected


It would never last, you and she

You know
The best things never do
Because soon you would whimper and beg
To be let out alone
Scratch through her backyard door
To be left to your own devices

So so so scared
That the aloneness is the most beautiful thing about you


Looking for her

Or just leaving
You would be out again in the blistering sun
Where I’d be looking for you


And when the steam room roads start to suffocate me

Then there are
Rows and rows
Categories and categories
Subjects upon subjects
Of books
That take the liberty of waiting
Patiently in the thick cold air


For you Or I
Or the so many more original than we are
Who read
Or write
For themselves solely
who would be satisfied to lock the end result away
The lesson or the verse
Without anyone ever knowing it was once learned or composed
(and who the credit belonged to)


There are names here

Written by men who speak directly to god
Or criminals who are slowly learning to know better
That you might read
I breathe in their cool-cold pages
Quick and sharp like my lungs can’t wait for the air

I hope that by thinking
“I don’t want anything from you.”
You might show pity and excite me
With
One.graceful.word.


I hold my breath

Fifteen sixteen seventeen
Nothing
Once more eighteen nineteen twenty


I ponder a journey to the Ankeny butcher

Of disrobing a fresh purchase of fatty hind meat
From its white paper and scotch-tape shell
Of squeezing its raw muscle fibers in two clenched fists
Sponging its red blood meatiness against each city brick
All along the walls as I pass


Everywhere I go like breadcrumbs

And you can pick up the scent


So when I quiet the click of my heels

I won’t just fantasize that sound
won’t just be imagining
This time
The scrape scrape scrape of your paws on the concrete behind me
A walk that has grown over the years
Into a lazy malnourished saunter
One that needles up
Hard
Into each haggard limb before you take a new step
Because your nails curl under now
To meet the scorching pavement
It’s been too long since your claws were clipped


But it isn’t a moment with that before I’m here

Back here
with the moist lemony-lime smell
Back in the low diner light
With the green felt tables and only an unlucky few so early

Here where I can order what I used to watch you drink
Stare down at the glass to act as if you just left
For a short spell
Even though I’m sure
I don’t think you’re ever coming back.