[Prose]

Everything
I don't want to do

Is secretly
Everything
That I do want to do

It *****, y'know,
life & ****.
Everything *****,

sometimes.

But I guess
that's what makes it
good too,

sometimes.

It seems that
'always'
is the enemy
of emotion.

Or at least

sometimes

it is.

For the mouth watering food
For the kiss when I walk in
For the earnest determination
In everything you do

For the way you make me laugh
For your educated, diverse opinions
For the unrelenting drive
That keeps you learning

For your gratuitous sensuality
For your Sunday morning sexiness
For each and every day that
You share your life with me

For your love

Father had a rotary,
Whereas I favor flat four
But when Pap has a V8
I cain't argue no more.

Slow thoughts
Hidden thoughts
Whispering thoughts
Creeping thoughts
Sauntering thoughts
Slithering thoughts
Pervasive thoughts
Obtrusive thoughts
Contrite thoughts
Acrimonious thoughts
Petulant thoughts
Onerous thoughts
Wearisome thoughts
Monotonous thoughts
Bereft thoughts

then finally sleep

Tightly coiled,
still slightly steaming
in the chill of the December wind,
what I've made is a symbol
of my life on the road,
smelling like eggs
gone bad.

I smell like dog farts
Stinky little pffts
Whisper quiet dog farts
Stinking up the room

A little voice
Tells me
To hold backspace
Until everything
Is gone.
Occasion arises
And I erase
Eagerly
And with gusto
Until masterpieces
Vanish.
I'm not
I'm not a writer
Or a lover
Or anything
I am whiteout
Painting coats
Onto an
Already blank
Sheet of paper.

I, but a blessed lamb,
but aren't we all?
Sent forth dithering
into the gaping maw of life
as a sacrifice to
uh,
the um....
What's that word
that means
doing something
for the knowledge of everyone?
Whatever,
family dies,
and life goes on.
So yeah.
**** is funny.

Coiled tightly
and buzzing with flies,
on the sidewalk
is where it lies.
I stop to admire
the odoriferous tang,
as a bicycle tire
cuts it neatly in twain.

Sometimes it claps.
Sometimes it rasps.
Sometimes its silent,
     sneaking out of my ***.

Sometimes it's loud.
Sometimes it's quiet.
Sometimes I'm proud,
     even when I'm in private.

Sometimes it's stinky.
Sometimes it causes strife.
Sometimes my mud *****
     go pppffft in the night.

There's nothing quite like
a fresh pair of work boots,
stiff and clean.

There's nothing better for
stepping right into a pile
of wet, hot dog feces.

Because what good would
work boots be without
some **** underneath?

Toxic inside
whiff of rotten eggs
sulfur and brimstone
running down my legs.

Thought it was gas
that I needed to pass
but I lost the gamble
throw my pants in the trash.

Maybe I'll read a book
Or play some tetris

**** this ******* ******* censoring
You ***** can wipe my ******* *******
With your ******* ******* moral high ground

When I wrung out the sweat
it went and stained the carpet,
like when I found that dead cat
and took it in as my pet.

Then I lied to the landlord
said "I don't smell it a bit"
but the bugs gave me away,
too many flys and maggots.

Walking down these dark streets
never going too far,
looking for an empty seat
at any ******* dive bar.

Slugging now, I don't sip,
I ain't got time to not drink,
when drunkenly I trip
and the bottle breaks in my lips.

So now I eat up bits of glass
and they splinter in my gums,
and my teeth start to crack
as I wait for day to come.

A leaf here,
roots there,
bloom comes every year
bringing with it
the flowers of new dawn.

Reach for the sun,
ye of old mind,
growth comes slowly
but consistanly
throughout our lives.

When comes frost
riding on autumn winds,
shake off your old leaves
without chagrin,
let growth begin again.

Puddle of shade, both
cool and damp,
I darkle
in the dwindling day.

But a shadow,
is all I am.

Cast forth
by the sun,
as it sets on the man
I once was.

Grab me by the beard
and tell me
to get my ******* **** together.

Push against uncreation itself.

Do this long enough
and maybe someday, something
might push back against you.

The air doesn't smell any different
on this cold October day.
So life goes on,
just feeling more
like a gift now
than it did before.

Death,
like a mother's love,
is forever.

An arctic smile,
pockets full of tissues,
floral aromas mingled
with talc and perfume.

The waiting.

A line forming,
A line dwindling,
bottoms finding chairs,
and you're dead.

The reading.

Crying, sniffling,
snot flying,
you can taste it
in the air.

The prayers.

It feels like
the hospitals
all over again,
but for the last time.

Birthdays won't be the same

It's really affecting me,
much moreso
than I initially anticipated.

Should've figured.

The great rolling thunder
inside of your head
left your body like a cut flower,
slowly wilting in bed.
I see the lightning
still burned in your eyes,
I collect your petals
that fall to the side.
And your love shines eternal
bringing our hearts to a boil,
as you return to the earth
and are one with the soil.

I'm sorry for all the complaining
I did as a child when you asked me to vacuum the stairs. Really it was one
of my only chores.

Now when I visit and climb them,
the dusty, darkened corners of carpet
bring me to a violent halt.

The ***** stairs haunt me Mom.

The next time I come see you
I want to read to you.
Like you always used to read to me
before turning out the lights.
For every time I wouldn't hold your hand,
I want to hold it twice as long now.
When the blankets slide down too far
I want to put them back on you.
If your pillows fall flat
I want to fluff them for you.
When you cry
I want to be there with
a fresh tissue for each tear.
I want to quit my job
and be there next to the bed with you.
I want to ask you what I should do
when my world is falling.
I want to do everything you do,
and be just like you.
I want to laugh.
I want to hear you laugh.
I want to read to you,

forever.

The good ache, resonates.
I like the pain of a long day's work
and I like sharing yawns with you.
Blurry eyed and smiling, come give me a kiss
because baby I missed you today.
It was warm, but misty with rain,
and my boots slipped in the mud.
I tweaked my ankle a bit, but it's a good pain.
The kind of ache you get from working
hard for someone you love.

He watches the world pass by
as streetlights periodically flood
the inside of his cab with the orange
glow of the buzzing arc sodium bulbs.

Everything is painted lines
on wet asphalt and the streaks
that tiny beads of water make
as rain splatters the windshield.

Tones of exhaust and the RPM
of the engine vibrate within him
as the tachometer races back and
forth between each changing gear.

When he isn't busy working the clutch
he likes to steer with his knees, and
reaches his hands outward, stretching
the sore muscles of his arms and neck.

The night is bountiful with subtle gifts
of empty highways and a full moon
in a cloudless sky that hovers above
the horizon like an absconded balloon.

Sometimes life makes sense and it's
times like this that he can begin to
add everything up into a simple sum
of sensory input, emotion, & memory.

Sometimes life is a singularity to each
within their own mind, and other
times it seems a broad umbrella that
covers us all equally with similarities.

Sometimes life is as easy as keeping
on trucking down an empty road in
the middle of the night. He does his
best to remember this.

A picture of a blazing inferno,
flames frozen in time,
is as I burn for you,
forever this house on fire.

If ever the wood should
wither to ash and ember,  
I would bathe in the soot,
I would burn to remember.

Looking at you, I've missed my train of thought.
Forever blue, earth in a flowerpot.

Turning the page
has never been
as rewarding as
it is with her.

Finally I've
started a
new chapter
that's actually
worth reading.

The kind of book
that has me eager
to learn what
happens next.

Standing beside you, I ponder...

...was the grass always this green and lush?
...has the baby blue sky seemed this vast before?
...where have these infinite possibilities arisen from?
...is my hand too sweaty to hold?
...have the stars forever shone this brilliant?
...where does time go?
...how does her smile warm me like the radiance of the sun?
...will my face crack from smiling this hard?
...is it possible to love her any more?
...how can I prove it to her?

I'll figure it out, I'll find a covered porch and a glider or a pair of rocking chairs. I'll count the cars and admire her hair in the breeze blowing between our knees as the future unfolds itself out of thin air.
A love I've never felt before,
a beautiful pair...

"what're you thinking about?"

Oh! Me?
I'm just thinking about...

This is all so different,
yet also seems familiar.

I guess the words are the same,
it's just the way they're presented
that has changed.

This is all so different,
yet also seems familiar.

I guess the words are the same,
it's just the way they're presented
that has changed.

Whenever it rains
I see her lying before me,
vulnerable atop a picnic table.

Love isn't always a titanic,
more often then not it's subtle
like hundreds of little life boats
bringing us all to safety.

I find those subtle hints
of her honest love
floating towards me
whenever I start to sink.

I wear that shirt she got me,
I come home to a made bed
and folded laundry,
I see her letters and notes
on my mirror,
her face pops up on my phone
and when I answer all I can say is
"I love you too."

It seems that I have not only
fallen in love,
but I've been ****** into it
with enough force
to leave earth's atmosphere.

Because when I see her,
I feel like I'm floating
through space.

Look all around you,
and just take everything in.
Isn't life lovely?

My beard is fragrant
with a hint of wet rosebud,
it makes me miss you.

Crispity crunchy,
Zagnut bars are delicious,
do you like this watch?

Knotted strands of blue
stuck in my slightly red beard,
means her heart is here.

Each and every word
that flows from
her mind to her mouth,
washes over me
like the waves of
an electric ocean,
the current undeniable
in it's ability to move
my body and soul
to unknown places.

I smile my teeth out
and squint my eyes
as her electric love
beats down upon me
like a radiating sun.

Seven years since first
I lit you up
but it still feels like yesterday,
every time I try
to give you up.

o, crashing doubt upon us,
such as gravity grounds meteors,
burning us smaller and hotter,
as we rip along through
layers upon layers of atmosphere.

Impact was subtle though,
with nary a crater
or fissure between us,
and we cooled down softly,
slightly steaming
on a December afternoon.

It's our love of course,
and our friendship,
that let us perforate the skies
without qualm,
or any harm
to become of us.