Oh, Little Shirt, the decision to keep you
was not made immediately.
I have to confess, at first I looked for a replacement.
A new thing, exactly like you.
But then I began to consider first,
That no one exists exactly like you
Zara doesn’t make you anymore
Only one collection,
Made in Portugal,
Of unknown exact fabric, but certainly some cotton
The tag is too worn to know,
And I never knew you new.
I found you in Iowa City,
At a Goodwill
Three dollars and a rectification —
Your bright birds and leaves,
Your dragonfruits
Could solve the problem presented by a recent girlfriend:
You wear way too much black.
So you came home with me,
Resplendent in colour.
I washed you with a pair of crimson pants once and most of the white of you turned rosy pink.
I decided this was appropriate and kept you then.
But a hole on the shoulder!
Presented a new problem.
Should I get rid of you?
By this time I had worn you so many years
I was attached.
The girlfriend was gone, but my parrot shirt was a staple, fit perfectly, comfortably stretched out where it needs to be, the exact level of Crop Tee.
So I got out my sewing kit,
chose the colour to sew you together:
Red, so the mending would be visible,
And then I mended you,
Very badly some might say,
I’ve never been domestic,
But where there was a hole there are now uneven stitches, winking a sweet red wink, as if to remind me that mending is almost always better than giving up.
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
I think a fibre is still there
Out on the cliff
Rolly polly waves crashing
Sea wind wet
So high I never climbed back into my body
Even then it was a horrible feeling
It’s no secret I’m a struggle
A quick wind could put me out
That’s how I’m sputtering
All out of spark
I think you thought I was tough
Hard as nails
And I did try to be
But what I really am is scared
Really I want someone
God, probably
A voice still and small
Or a tempest howl
To say, you’re okay, kid
You’ll make it
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 12:44 AM UTC
Do we hug now I say my body reaching for his when he hugs me
Vining into a hug cause I want to hug my friend and this may always be the last one
It is the last one, too, whaddya know.
Paranoia wins again
I am asking are we allowed to hug
Are we hugging even though
we said we can’t be friends now
Even though we said we love each other
Even though we said we miss you
But we aren’t friends
We said it’s not allowed now
But I guess now the question is do we hug?
Do people who aren’t friends hug?
I think the answer is usually yes but maybe not and maybe not when seeing him makes me wish I could be just a little bit dumber
Let them treat me like Bryce
Feed me but never ask how’s it going with your wife who we said we loved and then forgot about.
Nick isn’t great at remembering, fair enough.
I don’t hug people I don’t trust to hug me back
And that takes a long time
I don’t hug my own family unless I have to
He says yeah I think we hug and I feel so warm
The next day I see him and Pisco outside and he doesn’t take his earbuds out
I say I thought of you when I bought this dress see there are bells all over it
And he laughs
And I miss him
but we don’t hug now, I guess
He stays on the other side of the bench
In the elevator the nice Irish lady on my floor says our dogs look so good together and I agree and I wonder if one day
I’ll have this question about her too
Do we hug?
Are we allowed?
Do you still care about me?
I wonder when we do?
Is it after a couple beers?
Is it if Katy and Tony are there?
Was it the time of day?
What excuse do you people need to pretend you’re decent?
And why is my definition of decent coming down to if a man I thought was a dear friend can hug me if he’s drinking but not when he isn’t?
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 12:37 AM UTC
atlantic is a stupid word.
it doesn’t mean anything.
it’s just a space between,
a tangible obstacle.
unlike empty words like:
we are always impossible.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
I don't get you
It's been said.
(By you.)
Your music poem heroic myth combos;
I don't got 'em in me according to you so ****
Pride is what I've got as far as:
Loving you, possessing you, longing you forever and ever and always
Faithing this: I get you and no one else can ever more, just me.
Me wrong: ha!
But apparently maybe
So call me
Or don't cause we sleep together;
no call needed bby
Speak instead so
I can scratch your dreams;
I'mma ******* Count of Monte Cristo type here,
All useless revenge
Offensive retreats I pretend are defense;
therefore, QED legitimate.
A chess player bluff but no
I'm not actually that fancy
I don't fence cause my wrist is ******
don’t play chess because it will not be just any another opponent, it will be my Papa, teaching me the best ways to beat him, in the end.
don’t conjugate Latin anymore,
(she died, the woman who whispered there is a way out of radical christianity and heterosexuality but more importantly taught Latin precisely, inspiring.)
I cheated on the last test anyway so **** that fake fact.
So I just been hoarding meanness
up down,
Left and right, inside out
(In other words: ******
Sorrow isn't a thing we people make up but we sure spend a lot of time manufacturing it for each other it seems like, and I don't want to be good at doing this.
It doesn't make me tough
Or better
Or mas yours
Or honest or what I'm afraid you think I am:
A wilted desert thing
Secreting thorns first
Exploding them out in every direction
Unpredictably
Unblooming into a prickled seeding creature
nonetheless virile vibrant,
Hungering but not starved
Like home this summer,
The summer you wouldn't believe
If I told you how green it all was down I-25;
(ours and also you and Maria's but we count more than you and she cause she doesn't glow anymore who knows why I wish she would because she is the best poetry you have let out so far just opinion here.)
But so.
Unbelievable.
Like a desert dreamt itself into meadows and unknown greens that you know better words for than I do.
You missed this.
You hate missing things
Pretend they were never there.
You just want to turn longing into creation,
So you're the best at survival
And transforming and I don't want to just wilt out on you, I want to become a cactus that can be anywhere and all where
But I won’t pretend it wasn’t real because I was there and Santa Fe broke my heart and you can forget all you want but that is fact and nothing changes it even though I can bear it, bore it all summer, and then broke a bunch of your bundles of trust this fall and now you can have reasons for what I've done wrong and I wont argue against the facts.
But I am not incapable or lazy or insane or crazy. I do not need men to tell me I'm bad with money when the only times I am is when I am wrapped into their lives. I do not need to be mistrusted when I know what I know and have done what I have done and do not try to reconcile the two.
Reconciliation? Personal analysis? **** that. All I had to know is that here we wouldn't birth fights about who did what wrong, and that I, I am not alone in this world.
P.S. Why am I the one left to keep us safe if you don't trust me enough to believe me when I say your child could be mine one day and I, I would not keep silent watches, build walls with peepholes. Keep believing it, though. Cause I'm the only one in on the secret who hasn't feared for a child's life around you yet. and I'd bet you any amount that every single other person has had that moment of terror. So figure out who it is you want on your side, kid.
( Don't leave yourself alone in this world. )
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
oh we came here and we kept on going
and once we said stop
but we don't stop
we keep going through fall
and fall in lima is just grey turning into gold
and then it's day and we're not day livers but we're trying
and this is almost over but
it ends then
the surviving
the come with me
the you or him
and the sky turns azul or amarillo
truth is we're just going on
and we can do it now
together
juntos
or not at all
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
We danced into a desert town,
Decided to stay all summer and breathe in smoke
Instead of looking for the mountains,
Instead of finding a skyline worth lunging for.
When I left I said don’t wait I’ll be back
And you said dance right back over here
My feet felt like oars, weighted, endlessly mobile.
Waterless.
Here’s a question.
What are oars in a desert?
Here’s a question.
Who goes dancing without a place to dance to?
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
Falling feels like slingshotting your body from metal birds
At colored patches, verdant, oceanic, supposed Earth
That comes so slowly towards you, at fifteen thousand feet
That falling feels like flying then, like floating,
Like dirt is fiction and what you know are only facts
Fact: your eyes were never made to be binoculars
You can’t make them focus on something so far away,
Can’t make them telegraph up the brainwires,
Shouting incomprehensibly about fear
It’s too far. They won’t do it. Sky divers call this distance illusion.
I call it sanity when an ending comes howling across the sightline,
Unavoidable, solid, unfeared
Inside your head is the lie that you aren’t really that far,
That this distance is tame space,
That you are impossible and airborne
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC
the sidewalks are lit up,
sunbright, enough to look away,
into merciful shade
I keep thinking I oughta be using
this time to say goodbye,
soak in Santa Fe, burn with her
if this is my last home
if this is the summer of loss,
I should let it sink under my skin
but I dry out in the sun,
and browning isn't appealing
when I'm outside myself,
beside myself already
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Loginquitas:
distance remoteness isolation;
separated from others.
No specification about how it is,
what it is,
if it comes as a wall between
or only a space, unrightfully empty.
Isolation indicates past ongoing,
a thing not just temporary,
but potentially permanent,
a sentence like prison solitary,
like a state of celibacy,
a vow of silence given under duress.
Remoteness means far away,
not just a length of earth -
an Everest of longing,
ice shifting underfoot and when the footing goes,
down another interminable edge,
there the freeze into narrow sleep.
Distance like roads in the Midwest,
seeing for hundreds of miles,
the knowing discomfort, the steady hunger,
a fact that is this:
lost, interminably lost, losted after.
Separated from others is the afterthought,
the side effect, the symptom-sick,
visible, wriggling nakedly.
Worm-like, burrowed into itself.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC