you were young once
bright eyed
you put the raspberries on each finger and then ate them off
one by one
then, older
you took a bus home from school
kept to yourself
playing 80’s and 90’s hits you would later work out with
as “Shout” Turned to “Oblivion”
you would fall to the floor
and pant
get up
walk to the kitchen
look for something, anything
One
Small
Raspberry

I want to cry on the subway.
I want to dance in the ocean with the waves crashing on the rocks behind me.
I want to see a lemon purple sunset mirrored in my mother's eyes.
I want to eat the whole cake.
I want to read a thousand words and learn every one.
I want to sleep in the desert, in a truck bed, staring at the stars.
I want to buy the shoes.
I want to wear the shoes.
I want to break the heels of the shoes on a long walk up a hill, drunk, shouting into the early morning air.
I want to collapse in bed before the sun hits the skyline and dream I was driving up the coast and my car took off into the air, passing up the birds, the planes, looking over the houses and the people.
I want to actually mean it, whatever it is.
I want to wake up and know that I did it, glorious me, did glorious it.
I want your ****.

I went to the end of the hall, your voice echoing
a cool breeze in a hot, dense mind
                         "we are going through the same thing, aren't we?"
you were up early that morning, and I had been up all night,
counting the wood panels in the cabin walls

we sat looking out over the lake in silence that morning in 2004,
not knowing that it would be our last trip.

                            I was up late that night in 2016
                              thinking of you
                                      in my mind
                                                  no hair on your head was missing

everything comes down to this
the way the night falls around
my cold hands
and fast feet
on the pavement
thump thump thump

and your heart beating
thump thump thump
until it didn't
and how they didn't really try to keep you alive
because you were old
but how they kept me in the hospital for weeks
in and out of coherence
my body heaving for air
my mind just asking
            for a break
and
        when I think of you now
clean air over the lake
           a smile on your face
as you died
I didn't know what you meant then
              but now, Ron
                                       I do.

summer is over

i watched it turn

while the quiet grace in my eyes went hard

why do i always
go here

when there
is so soft and curved
a pillow to lay the palm of a hand

the wet fog rolling in on a cool morning
pools behind my eyes
the cement beneath my feet
tenses for fall

and I wait

I go out, a sorcerer, in the dark, damp, early morning air
flicking my eyes towards the shadow of a passing thought
shedding my skin for the coming day.

That song comes on, and I try not to let it register.

We are, all of us, whirling galaxies
asleep but awake
crashing
crashing
into one another
and then falling apart
again and again

"...nice to hold...when I'm tired..."

A breeze sends a chill down my spine
and I realize
I let myself fall sad
an oak tree struck by lightning

"...when I die...will I go..."

I go out, a sorcerer, in the dark, damp early morning air.

Sunday morning,
and the sun is peaking through the blinds
after a long sleepless night.

The monster that hung over my head all night
is sticking around for the light, it seems,
and it is scaring my Pothos'.

As they wilt,
I am changing the song that's playing,
It's too haunting, too obvious.

An old friend, this specter has become.
I laugh as he spills my coffee.

if you sit upright
type well
stare at a screen
wear the right clothes
they'll call you a fashion plate
the old men
you'll get a good job
hell, maybe they will marry you

not me
I slouch
stare out the window
make up stories about the bluebird

At my review they tell me I can do much better

why does that matter when my heart is breaking into a million pieces?

there is the bluebird again

when will he leave me to my work?