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carbonrain Dec 2018
a while back.
a colander full of popcorn.
a blue light in my corner of the house.
a dying man more cheerful than I am.
a sofa or a bed, never both full.
everyone wants to be alone.
no distractions, only work to do.
forgotten hot dogs in the crisper - better put them back.
memories of phantom pizza from the last time we were happy - I've reheated these leftovers over and over - the plate burns my fingertips - maybe I won't have an identity - maybe I can start over - maybe i can do it right next time, how I was supposed to do it right this time, the last time, and the time before that.
the refrigerator door seals my fate.
plants of the same seed grow farther apart, reaching for their own sun in the sky.
carbonrain Dec 2018
hello there,
midnight in a stalemate hug,
you there,
flirting with the mistress of yesterday's wind,
the enraptured soul,
the solemn crowd on a bridge of flowers,
waiting for an enemy that doesn't show up,
fear is near,
dear one,
and you can taste it warm and sweet,
and what if each scar were a reminder of your good intentions,
ones you can roll between your fingers like a mala prayer bead,
and not let all they say be all you hear,
though there are sunrises you may never see in this life,
you are the mountains of clouds billowing the infinite of the all,
and you always remember to have one foot on the bedrock of the earth,
and the other on the tail of a tiger.
carbonrain Dec 2018
I opened the gate to my backyard and walked into the valley where I can feel the heat of the light - I love you too much to let you love me

I'm not the guy the lady looks at when she turns around - I don't want you to see my eyes, I want you to look at me and see you

His body's tomorrow is his mind's tonight - you are the line, my dear

it only costs twenty bucks to change your name
carbonrain Dec 2018
i moonlight as the sunshine in your darkest dreams

i am the gateway the kingdom and the key.

  i'll settle for reality, though I am, after all

   to the last sunrise, the cult leader is, in effect, ineffective

    in the same state of mind, but a different state of the union

     because no one is willing to remember what they already forgot
carbonrain Dec 2018
I can feel your heart ache under your soft, warm skin as I glide my fingers along your gold-mended pottery fractures. Skating on the glaze you've let me peer beneath to reveal your raw materials. We used to use air and clay and water to speak, now we communicate in a wordless language, born of naked otherworldly splendor.  — and  that planet, your body, I long to explore.
carbonrain Mar 2017
Their souls had spoken. Rushed off into adventure fueled by mania without first breaking the ice. These talks were between new friends. Altogether anchored by deathless subjects, they deliberated naively over a shared *** of bone apple tea. The glass was broken, but this was no emergency - just heavy words minced by chattering teeth.

Hesitating only slightly, they took a death pledge. “I’m bad and it’s not worth it,” she said. “You’ll be disappointed by me too, and I’ll bet my life on it,” he returned. They chuckled sheepishly. “You’re going to miss this too”, sang the younger sibling.

Of course, their conversation was purely conjecture, subject matter the victor of a game of happenstance, mutilated in transcription, like notes copied over the shoulder from someone else’s lecture.

Still, he hoped it didn’t matter, and without hope, it didn’t matter. Perhaps this was merely thinkful wishing. “I was a single digit, a gorilla in a concrete jungle,” his words seemed to suggest. “A flightless bird makes good food for thought. Fight or flight, fight the good fight. Always choose your battles wisely, and never speak in absolutes.” she recommended.

“It’s got to be somewhere; everything’s somewhere, but, everywhere else is not here.” he wondered. She could read between the lines; and left to write. “Stop being ungrateful and just close your eyes.” She closed the door, and he opened a window. Then, like some thinly sliced avocado that didn’t quite make the cut, he fell asleep.
carbonrain Apr 2015
raindrops bounce on
the window frame,
reminding me we're
in this room together.

your words are raindrops
playing on my metal frame -
nowness splatters
into existence  -
you remind me that
someday we won't be
in this room together.

you repeat endlessly
between my ears -
I sing along to my favorite song -
I want to tell you
all the lyrics
but my words fall
like raindrops.

unspoken are my
tear-shaped raindrops -
their tremors taunt me
on this side of the pane -
you remind me that
we were always
in the wrong
alternate universe.

the raindrops refract
your light,
dissolving a warm glow
into the evening fog,
you remind me that you're gone.

maybe the rain stopped,
but the silence is only
the absence of your voice,
the rest is just noise.

I think of our raindrops now -
smiling -
knowing that you have an umbrella.
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