I was in love with anatomy
the symmetry of my body
poised for flight,
the heights it would take
over parents, lovers, a keen
riding over truth and detail.
I thought growing up would be
this rising from everything
old and earthly,
not these faltering steps out the door
every day, then back again.

scared because i
know the
truth.

something unexpected yet so ordinary happened
last night
it made me wonder how exactly and
why exactly
the ordinary parts of my life are often so
extraordinary
that extraordinary, to me, has to be more than
exceptionally marvellous and nowhere near far from
outstandingly incredible
some people call it high standards,
like the top step of the ladder

I thought
last night was incredible
because you kiss exactly like how I kiss and the shock fluttered
like bits of confetti and glitter on my tongue and lips and
all over my goosebumpy skin
the cadency of my heart was somehow simultaneously
rampant and rested
my body fully invested
in yours
my body completely suggesting
it’s yours
to touch, to make feel good, to adore
the divine woman, curved and open
eyes and skin glowing
arousal growing
bodies non-existent, spirit flowing

exceptionally marvellous
I jitter in silence, knowing myself
and patterns alike
I try to throw away this burdening muddy stick of
I-always-end-up-getting-sick
of things eventually
but obviously
it’s easier to neglect the fact
that this stick is a boomerang
and it always comes right back

and what is it like, dear?
being so in love,
being so convinced that she is all you desire,
that i am not enough to even be close to you anymore?

The winds of change blow the sands of time
In such a violent manner
They erode and smooth the scars
Left by careless pasts
Then cut deeper in new ways
New areas to be scarred
Like the 3-D mural of the
Grand Canyon, tattooed on my good friend's
Arm, which continually spat
The Colorado River as the tattooed member
Rested against the cold tile, draping over the
Side of the tub
The place my good friend gave up material want
For the spiritual punishment which she so believed in
And the winds of change blew the sands of time
Like a pumice stone scraping away
So-called offensive skin
As if an apology for being human
Acting as a cyclist backpedalling
To deny the cemented fact of what was done

ask anyone i know:
i have a tendency to forget things.

i forgot moose's middle name
my password
what day i have to go to the dentist
what i did yesterday
if i ate this morning
what year i stopped talking to ryan
the words to my favorite moldy peaches song
the name of a childhood friend
the book that i was supposed to return
the movie i was supposed to bring
the cookies i was supposed to bake
the smile i was supposed to smile
the words i was supposed to say

but this is only lately.
i used to remember everything

i thought my tactic of not thinking about the bad things
made the bad things not real

but it only makes me
forgetful

I shall never know,
if you faked those blackouts.

The ones that made you crumple
on the stairs. Or else out in the cold
of Andy's rusted shed. Once I caught

you naked, you know,
during one of your blackouts.

I shall never know,
if you faked those blackouts.

I wouldn't have blamed you,
a shed-full of
wasted tanks and canisters;
lighter fluid, degreaser, air freshener,
foot spray – they spoilt the flooring,
and they spoilt our thoughts.

Never once deterring
from the self-manifest dream of escape,
of truth and eventual decay;
we took to bare arms
to satisfy
our escape from oxygen.

And, in open view,
you laid out naked with her.
You more studied her,
than ****** her,
you more observed ***,
than became it.

I wanted her
as much as I wanted to be you.

So, I traced my dreams to your nothings,
upon your heralded wisdom,
but never could I untangle
from some impossible condition.

No, I never could untangle
the means from the ends,
and never could I darken
at will,

my old blackout friend.