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Dylan Barnes Aug 2017
I just cleaned my clothes
Thinking it might wash off
The stains
Left behind
For so many days
And so many nights
I forgot to

Now they will always be there
To remind me
Of the mistakes
You make
When you let something
Linger for too long
Dylan Barnes Apr 2016
I've had a lot of dreams
About my old house
And my family
My dogs
And my hometown

They make me miss home

But after moving a few times
Or more than a few times
I realize that home
Is made of the people
That love you the most
And wherever they go
They are bringing you home

Home part II

Home to me was comfort
Comfort and love
Fighting and pain
But mostly comfortable and warm

Home sometimes feels like
What my parents taught me
Dylan Barnes Apr 2016
if who i really miss is you
or a different you
someone i knew and don't know now
every step of the way
you said
we said
we shared
those moments
so surreal
so many memories

you asked for my swimsuit
the first time we touched
the first time we kissed
the time i cried with you
the other time i cried with you
all the times i cried with you

you made me so many things

you sang for me
you sang with me
you wrote poetry
you made music with me
we did it together
every step of the way
you said
we said

every step until one day
everything seems okay
or it doesn't
and a whole ball of confusion
is floating around
and no one can get through to each other
and no one can talk
or explain
or make sense
for days
and days
no one speaks
no one says or does anything

because it doesn't make sense
it just doesn't make sense

and so
they can't relate
we can't relate
no one can relate
it's just stalemate
the game isn't over
but no one has lost and no one has won
and all i am left with
are memories
and these things you gave to me
Dylan Barnes Sep 2015
I said I want to die
he said take this
golden necklace
it will give you bravery

I said I think it's time
he said no
a part of you must die
that, it is time

It is time for a part of me
the part I don't believe
suits anything
to drift away
into the background
of a life I didn't need

Old man wisdom
such a long life
so much bravery
don't doubt it
when it comes to these things

My old man
gave me the wisdom
years of knowing what it means

So goodbye
goodbye part of me
I do not need
I don't miss you anyway
I don't miss the tricks you played
on me
I don't miss the way you smelled
or the way you looked
or the way you dreamed
it wasn't me
it isn't me
thank you but i'm done
so say goodbye to part of me

this is my suicide letter
to the part of me I no longer need
Dylan Barnes Sep 2015
Accelerate me into life
flash forward
what is it like
people not driving cars
robotic body parts

hologram friends
destined to screens
faces unseen

Where will we be
time flashes before eyes
before our eyes
creating new families
gone from our lives

the future
what will happen
in the future
the future

all our things
are consolidated
into this modern day destiny

will we be
through a paradigm
of things we used to dream

the future
no one knows
where all of this
will go
in the future
the future?
  Sep 2015 Dylan Barnes
T. S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
        A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
        Questa fiamma staria senza più scosse.
        Ma perciocchè giammai di questo fondo
        Non tornò vivo alcun, s’i'odo il vero,
        Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to ****** and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: ‘How his hair is growing thin!’)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
  So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the ****-ends of my days and ways?
  And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
  And should I then presume?
  And how should I begin?

     . . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? …

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

     . . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in
     upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: ‘I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all’—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
  Should say: ‘That is not what I meant at all;
  That is not it, at all.’

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail
     along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
  ‘That is not it at all,
  That is not what I meant, at all.’

     . . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Dylan Barnes Sep 2015
Buy a new shirt
feel good
buy some items
numb the feelings
never have to think about them

feelings idly hiding
beneath the daily distractions
of life

i didn't feel anything
for weeks
and then i realized
it was all hiding
behind these things

these things in my house
these things in my room
these items
all these things

distract distract
anything to distract
from the things
i can't face
the pain
the sorrow
life we can't escape
the sadness
the illness
the death
the loneliness
just distract me
or else I won't last

distract with this
distract with that
until i'm bored
i'll take a nap
then get back
to distract

distraction after distraction
after distraction

what does it all mean?
tell me what it means
because i'm not sure
i can last in this dream
this dream that never ends

why do some suffer
and some don't
some won't know what it feels like
to be comfortable
some only know comfort
some know both

tell me what it all means
or else i'll go back to distracting
why are some distractions bad
and some good
why does it matter

distract, distract
never want to feel that
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