I use your urn
I use the heart shaped velvet box I keep your urn in
to prop my phone up during therapy.
A choice I may choose to examine.

I keep it in my “workspace”,
a workspace I neglect
until it is time for therapy.
telehealth with Sherri Steele,
a professional


It’s a place so hard for me to be,
to think, to straighten up.
Sealed letters, dried flowers, undeveloped film.

then I walk away when it’s over.


There’s a secret
I do not disclose


to Sherri
or myself


In lucid moments I can see
the shade you colored my life when you left.
Out of focus, still on my mind

a crushed, pale blue.

all I have to offer are these ugly, ragged breaths.

-

it’s all quiet but you snoring upstairs.
the harmonized hum of the kitchen,
a bird down the block.

A musical masterpiece,
synchronized symphony;

It’s like you all practiced for hours.


I can’t help but notice
the peace you bring with you;
as in, its shear force.

It blows back the curtains,
leaving nothing in its wake.

Can you believe it?
Nothing.

No fear; no questions, doubt.
I have so long dreamed of this;
a gentle, subtle bliss.
This quiet nothingness.


With the exception of you snoring.
some hums in the kitchen,
a bird down the block.

Grief is a tough customer.
very demanding,
never satisfied.

A debt collector,
with letters in caps.
How do I tell them you’re dead?

I saw you blue.
felt you cold,
smelt what replaced your blood.
Now you’re reduced to rubble.

Kiss your urn,
warm in my hands.
See you when I blink

I can’t wait to see you.


Oh, you’re not in trouble, baby.


You know I love you, don’t you?
I love you forever.

Since forever, on.

do you still feel it too?


How could I dare wake you
from this, most peaceful sleep?
Selfishly, and cruelly.
easily. I would.


This pain is mine now.

I am happy to wince when remembering you;
in fact, I refuse to forget.


Grief, violent as our joy.

it wasn’t a secret
that I meant to keep from you.

it was something that was mine,
I was still guarding.

•

I spent the vacation dissociating.
wish u were here


As far as I could go,
my thoughts do follow.


An echo reverberates
til it rattles the canyon.



meanwhile

I domesticate insanity.


Xoxo,

Everything in my life is great
and I can’t touch it.
A hundred million miles away from you,
from gratitude -
my mind can’t reconcile.

I don’t learn.
I don’t think.
I dissociate.

My astral body
has anxiety.

There is no such thing as mindfulness

-


I am Pavlov’s dog
and I am famished.


I wonder if Maslow’s pooch got
free run of the food bowl.
I wonder if I will self-actualize.


I think of the paradox of quantum superposition.

I wonder about the rules for the evolution of a system.

Simultaneously, I do and do not understand quantum physics.



I bet Sigmund Freud had a rabbit.

ring ring

just cuz ya
want it
don’t mean that
ya get it

& just cuz ya don’t
doesn’t mean
it’ll stop

It’s love!
   or something

   it’s probably not

Sometimes
the best thing you can do
when you have lost control
is a deep, judicious pruning.


You will feel bare,
then grow back healthier.

the world's silliest man is treating me to *** & breakfast.

giggles galore & in the early afternoon, he will be gone again.

you wouldn't ask the world's silliest man to take anything too seriously.

he does what he does well, and so, too, do i —

we get down to funny business, and it's nice.

it's nice, letting him be good & sweet & secret, in my eyes at breakfast.

because even if he isn't serious, you can trust a silly man with silly things.

I’m a propagation of
my oldselves, born anew.

Every broke & breaking Me,
  rooted loose or deeply
in the ground, neatly plowed:

a new timeline.
—I’m Prolific!
I spill, over, over;

mended heart,
A tempered shoulder,

Each node of mine,
Stuck
in the ground; water
luck and a blessing

The world is very vicious
violent
cold, and quite alone.

And so to find something so gentle —
that gentleness, I think, is bliss.


Not sure.

I’ll let you know.

incredible,
incapable:
a feeling that's unshakable
like Fate, you know
(it’s make-believe.
Sensational
like seeing things)
So gratefully and
hateful, I am
stirring in my sleep.

so Crucial.
incandescent—
I'm a piece of work
progressing I'm
unsynthesized,
incessant
I’m a Wreck:
an honest blessing.

no illusion,
there‘s no losing
so my pain is
of my choosing
in the end but
Not for now,
if I could soothe
myself somehow,

like to rebreak so to reset it;
Forgive so to forget, I cannot say
I understand
but, ever woefully
I get it.

drill
. deep,
. drip
slow.

sweet,
. distilled &
. crystalline
flow.

outdid yourself, truly,
politely with neatness.
it’s yours now,
. the sweetness,
. please take it and go.


dark &
delicate.
deliberate,
. divine.

tapped some pure purpose
right out of my spine!

like sugarcane grasses,
from sorghum,
molasses;
congrats man,
. you did it —
it’s yours now, not mine.

∙

I want to feel love for myself
like I look for in someone else,

I’m good, enough—
I’m brave, I’m tough!
Courageous, rough and
dangerly, abrasive
when I’m made to be;
(at least I’m not afraid to be.)
I’m “always, always”: faithfully
and double-downing loyally,
allegiant as if royalty
— You Are to me:
who'll ever be,
so already, I weep.


I want to love all women
like my mother never did
and I want to love the children
like I wanted as a kid
and could give or take a man for now
I‘m focused — have a plan, but if
you tap my love like sap just know,
it’s sweetest from my hands.


I want to love, just want to love—
a gift and curse from hell above
caught in this vessel I am wrestling
so I get all tangled up.

Imperfect love, but that’s enough;
I’m purely love and that is something.
My intention keeps me bumbling while
I figure out what’s what.

hold my hands above my head
— a fun workout
make me wish that i was dead
— a fun workout
empty pencils of their lead
— a fun workout
deeply dig but lightly tread
— a fun workout

full to bursting —
all I want, and just as quick
as can receive it.

...and truly, can’t conceive of
but believe you-me it’s real,
life of late a lucid dream: all
déjà vu and vivid greens of
lush and sparkling everything,
there is a future slate so clean atop of
fossils pressed between,
and other treasures altogether
measure depths of dated things.


millennia many,
lifetimes aplenty
I’m blundering nirvana-toward.
transforming and crushed
back to life, back to dust
one thing’s certain:
I’ve never been bored.

the plants trust that rain will come next
and whatever comes next’s what it is
that they need
and the ants seem to hide just in time
from the rain;

suppose I fill a niche, situating myself
on the top step, front row and imbibing—
yellow sky of a fog rolling under the storm,
empty bottle for capturing lightning.

stumbling, stumbling
but standing back up.
doing things better but
having worse luck.
the ground moves me forward
while time races back,
and one-thousand diverge
from a singular track.
I am stumbling, onward;
my frame growing strong.
I am stumbling inward
though that shouldn’t last long
and from clumsily running
I will arrive stunningly
just in time, loving;
alright from all wrong.

there has simply got to be  a freckle factory
hidden somewhere 'hind your ears  i swear
& when i find those smokestacks breathing
sunshine 'cross your sweet & every smile i
will apply to work there.

I am alright.
I have a face mask
nicotine stick
& a heating pad

I have lavender, in epsom salts
and healthy food & ****
and I am lucky
lucky
lucky,
I should tell myself I’m
lucky

I’m alright,
I will be fine
(and I am, guess,
most the time
besides
I am not going to die
and still have quite yet
so much time.

-


...i hear it,
even when it makes no sound.
it is so deeply hollow,
even Empty echoes 'round.

(and i'm so sure of all of this
because i hear it now.)



it is a disembodied pleading—
a guttural, deep shrieking. mercy
calls you from your being
as it all becomes too much.
i recall i, cold and lifeless,
watched (beside myself, despite this)
as i clumsily engaged in an
attempt to wake you up.



enough time dissociated,
we begin to wonder when
exactly, where exactly:
how does this all end?

ain't it so hard to find sometimes

-
one day the sun will blink out
and i won't be there.


:
my god is right now.
my hell is control.
my joy is devotion
and my grief is an absence;
maybe the hands of a clock,
quickly ticking
and unwilling to repeat itself.

;
my purpose is god,
desire is hell,
my love is my joy,
and that sun blinking out
without me is my grief.

-

imagine my surprise to see
a golden road, unfold, before me

where no path had been,
less had it leapt

with my every once-ashamed
and trepidatious
baby-step.



there are trees in the distance.


country-wide on either side.



and it's suddenly so bright? I adjust to the light,
blues and greens, to be sure; that is,
if I could see,
for the tears that could, might
source a new, fertile stream.


so I will start it, crawling;
grateful.
and I will take off running,
soon.

to wonder is simple and human and fine;
but it is to relinquish control that’s divine.

-

i am tinder, i am kindling:

i'll hold your fire
if you've got a match
with naught but a couple of strings attached
(also flammable)


i am quick and light and airy,
take on more than i can carry.


you, like reliable firewood:
must be.
you'll have to be sturdy,
or you will not trust me
that i could inspire,
for all to admire,
a fire: to light up the dark.

and though i have no doubt
you don't need my help,
perhaps it's not something
you want by yourself...


so imagine.
a night
with the dew fallen down.
if your light is low, too
while no one is around
then remember your kindling,
— i could warm you up.
i will give you some more
if at first's not enough.
if you'd want, we'd be roaring,
a knowing so well;
we'd reach up to touch heaven,
the envy of hell.
i give myself freely,
keep you blazing on
until sparks in the air
become ashes at dawn.


ah, we could rest then.
(get a good breakfast in.
cannot wait but i will—
burn all over again.)

burning all my candles
completely at both ends
to be as close to you again
as quickly as i can

i miss you sweet, soft women
with the knowing i know, too,
and you remind.

sweet, strong women
— who can carry me,
(or drag me from behind.)

mean & dancing women,
deep romancing women,
rough & fancy women—

: I miss you all so greatly,
I'll wait patient for our time.

do you feel like
you have gazed
to eyes of God,
or do you not.


do you feel like
every ray of sun that shines
has now surround you?


do you long for it
in heavy,
quiet dark;

and do you weep?


and if you do: because you Know it,
or is it because you don't?

Earlier, my brain bumped into itself.
and I mean, it was clearly an accident;
I saw the whole thing happen.
Still, none of us knew what to say!

Please don’t leave those bruises on my thighs,
for me to look on fondly when you’re gone.

I kissed you;
I mean kissed you.

and the rain between the buildings
loudly lauded with applause.

it’s all static if I can’t hear you.
all the same volume, meaningless

I am looking all over to grasp you,
— tell the others I found you

my only-ever prayer
to you, I love
forever.
(amen)

I had a dream about you,
so intense it had a score.

hours and hours on end
building and blending
and smiling at me
and for once,
I know how it ended.

there’s a half-life to our interacting.
and I am a scientist, scrutinizing it.

a certain proximity, and I
am irradiated, by you, anew,
every time.

I am burned up.
frayed,
and right here, on display.
taking diligent notes on the fallout
today, in this wasteland.


I search the ground
with my hand and
an eyeglass.



I shouldn’t like what I find.

oh, it’s starting
oh it’s starting.
Oh it’s starting
Oh it’s starting!
Oh, it’s over
Oh it’s over
oh it’s over
oh it’s over

•
•

it is good that i was lying next to you
as you sounded your alarm.
quick and shallow hiccups
tiny gasping
shook the bed.
i swatted you
— 2:30 am


even more alarming when it stopped,
i crashed to life
half up-above you.

a nightmarish apparition of myself
a screeching, darkening
premonition of death.


your eyes rolled
your head
heavy ragdoll
I begged you
to wake up;
struck you,
screamed your name

and I focused intently
as, vivid surreal,
the reds and the blues,
streams and islets,
turned up violets
at some deltas
of the reds and the blues
of your face
and so i never even felt for your heartbeat.


much like in throes of passion,
the attempts to force
any inspiration
were my frantic lips
still breathing your name
against yours
cool, moist, and soft,
yet, this time,
unreceptive
to my pleading.
and i heard my disembodied voice
somewhere inside my hollow head
call help


This part hasn’t ended yet

I know what you are like,
well.
and cannot breathe when you are with me.
for the scent I still spend
quiet time remembering
.
.