7/15/2017

A plank of wood,
sand mites bite our ankles
my ankles

One in the morning at the
Gated Beach Community
and the signs said

Without parental supervision,
No one under 16 allowed
but there I was, 15

Dealing with a bad lease on my brain, don't forget yours, too
parents nowhere to be found

Or maybe two buildings over
Years later, it's night
I step over puddles, drunk boys

Walk around the complex laughing
Trying to remember when I found that sort of thing fun,

Remembering never,
I sit on a ledge--
And you'd never guess the sea

Was several hundred feet away
with the way the sky bleeds black
congealing, together

The Atlantic and it.
Remembering my old obsession
With blood, my old poems

Speaking feverishly of it
adding meaningless symbols-
the flower the color of it,

or the sky in the morning in august
trying, selfishly, to make sense of my life.

I wish to run a fever-- forget this place ever existed
Or you, truthfully.

You asked me if I felt chills
down my spine when
I listened to jazz music
late at nights.
It was almost two in
the morning
and I was riddled
with paranoia
and sleeplessness,
so I told you that I spend too
many nights thinking
of my own mortality
and not
listening to the
strum of cellos and
violins clashing
together;
a supple sort of melancholy
trickling down my being.
    ..........
You told me that
you were tired
and that you were
picturing me
mumbling in your ear,
the things
I type down in
lazy, barely sensical
texts that lose their
meaning
when I read them
again in the
afternoon, craving
connection
more than love.
     ..........
We both have songs that
we can't listen to;
mine
is about a burning house
and it
reminds me of a
fifteen year old girl who
never
woke from her sleep.
yours
is about
someone
who broke your heart
and refused
to slow down even
when the
carousel stopped spinning.
    ...........
So, we live in each
others ripples,
consuming the
liquidity of time
that
we allow ourselves
to exist in and
I wander away a lot
but
you call me
your favorite reminder.
I keep travelling
through familiar
streets alone, watching
our lives
together collapse; lost
to a tide of memory.

You’re telling a story of a recent holiday
It reminds me of a funny joke I know about a panda with a penchant for French bread
I launch into it, enjoying your company, engaged in the action
But midway through speaking I stop
-
The scorpion that just appeared on the table is huge
Poison-filled tail arched over its back
It opens its mouth, revealing three rows of teeth
And prepares itself to strike your hand
I want to yell out but I’m frozen in dread
You seem more concerned about me than yourself
No, not concerned – confused
Can’t you see it, the creature right there on the
On the–
-
It’s gone, like the others have before
Back to the secret place in my brain
I know they’re not real
Or, I know they’re not real until I see them again
-
I try to return to the joke I had started but now you’re distracted
You make your excuses – not bad ones, I’ve had worse – and leave
Leave me to the voice of The Reminder
Who tells me once more that they’re coming to get me
They’ve not caught me yet but it won’t take them long