i've always wanted to apply for CSSSA,
but i'm too scared the rejection letter
will be the future shades of senior year
when i finally hear back from the mailman
who took my essays a year ago,
all bundled up in pre-approved envelopes,
stamped, addressed, received, thrown aside.
-
but that's not for two years,
so i don't know why i'm worried.
-
i've always wanted to do something,
not make something of myself,
even though the verb is the same in
spanish, with a reflexive difference.
-
in regard to this, a wise twenty-something (contradictory)
once told me to let myself feel instead of worrying so much:
"to put it less eloquently, feelings are like ****. FEEL 'EM."
-
apparently i haven't felt in eight months.
-
so maybe in compensation,
i will apply to CSSSA,
though the deadline is the 28th,
and the assigned portfolio demands
an utter lack of procrastination--
not my strong suit, you could say,
as a month of homework is still
sleeping in my bed.
-
****, it's all due tuesday.
-
also, while walking home
i saw a norse god namesake
on a balcony-asgard, wreathed
in the byproduct of his last smoke,
and somehow, despite my inability
to feel, that just made me so sad.
-

-
they say if a tree falls in the woods
and no one's around to hear it,
it creates a silence
in vibration,
without even
deaf ears upon which to crash.
-
and they say if a tree dies in the woods,
the only formalities it receives
are a coffin of moss and lichen,
a bouquet of fungi,
and a burial in overgrowth.
-
and i say, if a man dies in the woods
at the trunk of a silently falling tree,
then i am that man,
and the funeral would be attended by none,
and i would garner little more sympathy
than the corpse of the last man before me.
-
and finally, i say too that
this poem is inaptly named,
for i have no victim
to suffer
from
my
loss.
-

gentle, like the
                         dips, and
                                         grooves,
and soft protrusions of a skeleton,
but more alive, like muscle tissue
over my skull; woolen proteins
fortifying my ears against chill,
keeping my hair stretched taut
against my scalp and finishing
with a flourish of purled texture
cascading abruptly to my neck.

i liked it because it matched
       the lining of my jacket,
       it tied my reds together,

i liked it because it made me
      stick out like a sore thumb
      looking to catch a ride to
      San Francisco or detention,

i liked it because it caught me up
      in the eight legs of disapproval,
      (even though they respected me
      in the utmost, they still tripped
      me something fierce)

i liked it because it taught me selflessly
      never to wear it again.

whenever there's a need,
a gap to fill, imbalance,
you find a way to help,
to pull up in your old
white toyota that we
always know is yours
by the flashy lei hung
around the rear-view --
to say "*******" to
whatever scales we
seem to be required
to conform to, and
fix everything with
your jagged defiance
(or ruin it, but that's
how it is when you're
dealing with scales).

i can't express the joy
(and relief) that hit
me harder than you
hit the brakes, when
you pulled up today;
you were all dolled up,
just enough makeup
to bring out your blues
with the single gold streak
in the left you share with
another, and to accentuate
the soft angles of humble
cheekbones, followed by
black cashmere and jeans
that kept their blue only
by the notes in navy ink
scribbled onto them like
a hundred school children
had used them as paper bits
but forgotten to pass them on.

it was a clear sky cutting
through the trees kind of day,
and we consumed it with all
the relish we could muster
in light of recent events, which
i've always thought is a funny
phrase considering the events
transpiring recently were the
very essence of dark times;
but we chose to navigate
away from such topics, even
though they were all plaguing
our minds -- like
the fact that reality has driven
mercilessly into you like an
industrial-grade nail gun;
your ash, your little light
was stolen away from you,
and even though it's probably
for the best, no one ever said
you had to be ready for that.
or like the nifty new pills
you've been taking to ****
your emotions like bacteria
and let their unicellular corpses
drip away in the shower drain;
better them than crimson from
the canyons carved into you
by the raging rivers of this life.

and even still, you retain such
goodness in you, such wisdom,
but the sandpaper hardships
have worn down your caution
and sometimes it seems like
you're ready to say "**** it"
once again and throw
the whole plank into the fire
to keep the rest of us warm.