I can't make
an argument
for love,
love
is an untenable
position
in terms of arguments:
the reality-dismantling hope,
the disturbing pain,
the nausea ad infinitum,
the agitation of the heart,
the insanity of the heart,
in terms of arguments
love is the worst one to make,
but to you,
I will make it,
and I will make
a grander argument,
the one for you,
the homeliness
of your compassion,
the frenzy
of your revelations
in that humming car,
the beat down
I feel each time
you are around,
the manic nature
of my dreams
in which you are always
present and I can't wipe
you away from the windowshield
of my mind,
even when it rains.
The pain
I feel constantly
about being too careless
or too careful
with my heart,
seems so stupid
when I hold your chin
in my fingers
and reach across
to kiss you on the cheek.
The argument for love
is untenable,
the argument for you
is untenable,
I may never be able to say
the right things.
So in the rush
of the night
I write letters
in the middle of wet highways
never knowing
when the next tractor-trailer
will impale me.
This is an untenable position,
but I will not look up,
will not stop writing
hoping someday you get this letter
even as I feel the wheels in my heart.
For the first time,
after the last time,
one feels
independent
and sure.
But this could quickly become a last time
too.
My Marlboro is moving
back against itself,
and as it burns
the smoke it dangles
like a wet string
becomes
a second hand,
and I think that we are constantly ticking
down
until the first is last,
and innocence
is just a matter of time.
Strobe lights
make your shoulder blades
look like wings
when you
dance.
Spread all over my chest,
I can feel you flexing,
little dragon
burn me up
with your wings,
leave some of those flaking
scales
behind.
Let the music
drip
like hot metal
in a sexy rain.
"Chris just got kicked out of his house."
We rode over to his house,
and I listened to her sing.
Christ sat on the porch railing
dangling
his legs,
biting his fingernails.
I stood on the grass,
as she walked up to him.
He looked
at her neck.
Yukimi
put her hands on his shoulders
and kissed him on the lips.
Something
could have rose
in me.
But it didn't.
We rode back
and Chris slumped into the couch.
I heard him sucking
his fingernails
as me and Yukimi lay in bed.
"Lips can do more than talk,
I can tell
he needed that,
I'm sorry if it weirded you out."
"No,
it really didn't."
I just want to say thank you,
you
have
given me,
lifted me,
back to the gods
again.
A muse
awash
in music
has lifted me
because she talks
candidly
and throws
ropes
from
eyes
that hum and
bob their own heads
as they work
to pull me up.
How equal
you make
salvation seem.
Laugh all you want,
but when I was a kid
I didn't watch
Thriller after dark.
But I danced.
I danced my ass off in that lit living
room
with Joci.
All night long,
popping
and moonwalking.
Now that I'm old(er)
I know how to build spaceships
and I can put
the popcorn
in the microwave
myself.
I can take the popcorn out of the microwave
and watch Thriller all night long.
But
then
my little woodpecker
came.
When I was
Cynical
with power
now and then,
I became
Raw
and uncarved
again.
We dance over the graves all night long.
Our tombstones are smooth
and we make light
together
with our feet.
Little woodpecker
what are you beginning to etch
in me now?
I never put
eggs
in my ramen noodles
to boil
before.
Never
let the yolk
break
and
dissolve
like cells should.
I never even thought
about Eggs
and Ramen noodles
in the same
sentence.
What's next?
You gonna tell
me
we can have four course meals for dinner if we just
try
and
believe?
God, Yukimi.
God Yukimi
give me some of your new morals.
My aunt passed away
almost a year ago.
And I was never super close with her
but the things I remember
are important.
My whole family
Aunt Florence
Uncle Rodger
Aunt Debbie
and Romy
came down
and Stayed with Me, Ma, Joci and Grandma
when I was a kid.
I remember she kissed
me
and hugged me
in our living room.
And I felt the love
without words;
it just came out of her body
in waves.
Her small voice
was loud with it.
I am beginning to learn
Yukimi
like a backstory
and
her body
teaches me about love
in a different
but completely nostalgiac
way.
I love you.
Your lips
and how you
put your teeth first.
How you tickle yourself
silly
with your incisors
as you think.
I love your depth.
Your black eyes
and curly
animal hair.
The things you say
are too important
to be remembered.
They are better for
cups of coffee in Mcdonald's
while I perform
necromancy
over a small cup
and need
some higher power
to call upon.
You said:
"Some call it coincidence,
but I like to call it fate."
I love you Yukimi,
love me forever
my little woodpecker.
Smelly house party.
Smelly people.
Beers got tipped over.
Loud people
yelling
happily
all over the house.
And we just stayed in that
corner
all close
and kissing.
The fake tree right beside us
glittered with christmas lights
all night long.
Your eyes burned
and twinkled
giving life.
I didn't want anyone else
to ever see
how reflective
you can be.
"YUKIMI!"
someone yelled.
"THAT'S SO GROSS MEYER,
GO SOMEWHERE ELSE
WITH THAT SHIT,
YOU TWO ARE GONNA START FUCKING
OVER THERE."
THEY FORGOT US
AFTER THEY SAID IT
AND WE
KISSED
DRUNK
UNTIL WE WOUND UP IN A CAB.
WOUND UP SMUSHED TOGETHER IN THE BACK
KISSING MORE AND MORE;
LIPS JUST STUMBLING FOR REST.
WOUND UP BUMBLING UP THE STAIRS.
WOUND UP IN THE APARTMENT.
WOUND UP TAKING EACH OTHER'S CLOTHES OFF.
WOUND UP KISSING NAKED ALL NIGHT LONG.
wound up closer than clowns in a cannon.
we were hot all night long.
woke up sweating.
woke up feverish.
woke up with more love to give,
after puking
and brushing
teeth.
