Escape
Finally,
From the choking confines,
The cluttered debris
And piled clothes
Of her bedroom

Relief,
Coming only with
The cool night air,
Breathing softly onto her face,
Lifting her brown hair
From her bare shoulders.

Her feet click-clacking like music
On the dark asphalt,
The sky above glowering
Luminescent and orangeish purple
As the moon and the city
Burn silently against
The blanketed backdrop of clouds,
Hovering above
The distant voices and laughter
Across the fields.

She had never imagined
That she could feel like this.
“It’s all in your head,”
(as if anything ever
could be somewhere else)

A goal
That had consumed her whole life,
Working towards it,
Achievements,
Awards,
Satisfaction and success.
And suddenly she was here,
At this very point that she was sure
Her entire life had been leading up to…
Yet that lingering feeling of uncertainty…
What now?

The hollowness,
Enveloping
her
from
all around,
Choking
her
suddenly.

The promises that once
seemed so real
Falling short,
Becoming nothing more than ***** bathrooms,
Loud and late night drunks calling to her
With smelly breath
while she walked past
hurriedly,
Bodies tossing restlessly
in borrowed beds,
She was kept awake
by the mere thought of
Their faces;
A haunting horde of
ten thousand nameless humans
Shuffling past in grimy hallways.

“Am I insane now?”
she demanded an answer,
arms unfurled
up into the darkness.

But none came,
the sky remained silent,
So she just
Kept
Walking.


--Jack Singer

You smell like ***
Between happy covers
Stained with our joy and love.

I love you so much
That when I kiss you
I’m smiling.
I put my hand
On the inside of your thigh
And brush accidentally
Against a trail of slime.
It’s like a snail
Crawled up your leg
And left a path
Of my sticky love tears.

You look at me and giggle
And soon like an STD
I catch it too
And we laugh like a pair of happy idiots
In each other’s arms.

A steam hangs off the wet asphalt;
The fresh rain water
Seeps off the sticky ground
In low hazy mists. Beside the road
The trees hang down as if
Weighted by the humid air
And the reeds and undergrowth
Glare back a violent shade of arsenic green.
Above the earth wet electric lime
And vibrant cherry leaves
Hang over the slick black surface.

A forest
Choked with muddy and twisted
Vines and shrubs,
Dense and gritty mud,
Ferns from a prehistoric era otherwise forgotten,
And yammering birds that shriek
Upwards in the tangled branches
Stares back at a black cat,
Who sits and cleans herself nobly,
Occasionally munching on grass.

Her head bobs up and down
As she chomps the sour stalks
In her mouth, staring once in a while
At the ominous maw of the forest floor.
The grass is soaked against her paws,
And soon she trots
Into a quiet house at some distance.

Outside dusk has arrived like
The terrible bringer of some evil destiny,
Walking quietly upon soft yet inevitable footsteps.
Meanwhile the insects crawl forth from the mud
And pour out into the mauve and fleshy night air
Buzzing and biting.

I wish
I could capture the essence
Of my life here,
Now.

I’d wrap it up in bubble wrap,
(you always loved bubble wrap)
and put it in an envelope.
I’d lick it closed,
And mail it off to you.

It’s stupid for me to try
To show you what I felt
When this morning
As I was crossing the street
In the brusque Connecticut air,
A car stopped for me,
And I waved to thank the driver.

Then as I approached my building,
Stepping on freshly fallen October leaves
A girl held the door for me
And I thanked her.

I run my fingertips up your sides,
A gentle caress,
Feeling your ribs quiver beneath my hands.
Under your fretted torso,
Your heart, a bleeding star
In a dark cavern,
Pumps your life blood.

You are living.
Your flesh is warm like
Something eternal and powerful.
It has its own story
And now I too am woven
Into that tale.

Your toes curl,
In the darkness beneath the covers.

I put my hands in your hair
And sniff you.
Delicious.
You are musky
Like a tribal warrior.

hey, not bad kid.
you been practicing that?
learning all the tricks,
figuring out the secrets,
putting in the hours,
working hard,
doing what you
live for?

I can tell,
and someday,
they'll put your name
up in the big flashing neon lights,
you'll be a superstar,
they'll all love you then,
they'll watch you intently,
gazes fixed and eyes widened.
then you can show them
all about your skill,
your technique,
more flawless than the thoughtless
fingers of a master guitarist
as they dance and flutter
over the fretboard.

because you--
you have ideas
that nobody else has ever thought.
you've got it down!
you can make it
float in the air like a leaf,
wiggle like a worm
wriggling in the mud,
swim like a slow-motion-astronaut
jumping on the moon,
quiver and flip over
like a struggling fish
on the deck of a boat,
spin like a top,
even sprint across the finish line
like a breathless runner.

but none of that,
kid,
is worth ****,
unless you can make it sing.
and i mean fly like a falcon,
effortlessly though the air,
soaring,
beautiful,
mesmerizing.

you have to cram it all,
every emotion, thought,
every piece of piece of this puzzle
that is existence,
and jam into one note,
one step,
one jumpshot,
one stroke of your magic paintbrush
only you can use,
and then,
maybe,
somebody will notice you.

so keep trying kid;
you never had a choice.

I’m sitting here
On a balcony
On the third floor.
It’s sunny,
The New England fall
Is just beginning here
And the field
In front of me
Is a green lake
Rippling in the breeze.

The sun is bright
But it’s not harsh
Like in the summer.
I’m reading some poems,
I’m thinking.
But mostly I’m thinking
of you.

All the stories I have for you,
None of them
Mean anything
To you.
They’re all names
places,
things,
events
That you’ve never heard of.

Can you
Feel me over here?
Can you hear me scream
When I awake
In the blackest depths
Of the night,
And cry out for a moment,
Hitting my head
Off the metal frame
Beneath the top bunk,
Before I realize that of course
You’re not next to me,
Because I live here now.

Sometimes I imagine
That I feel you,
That I take in your pain,
Along with the everyday
bits of magic
That fall around your life
Like shards of stained glass
Scattered across
A wooden and dusty floor
Of an empty cathedral,
Bathed in sunlight,
And crunching underneath
The feet of time
As our memories
Are pounded into
Oblivion.

Of course I wish it were different!
Yes I wish that I had you everyday,
The way I once did.
But that’s not
How it is
Anymore.