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Jerash Cassare Dec 2013
Nervous. Boot heels click clack up steps. Walk around back.
Step in.  People in pockets everywhere. Swerve straight to cooler.
Take a beer. Cracks open with crisp click. Drink drink drink. Ellipse of friends block out world.

Finish beer. Talking a little louder now. Confidence enough to walk to cooler
alone and grab more beers. See Steph and stop to chat. Move on. Keep on drinking the whole way back.

Two and a half beers and I’m starting to feel it. The excitement, the loosening of social limits. The loosening of myself. Boy whose name starts with a “C” but I just can’t remember starts talking to us. He’s kind of cute.

My fourth beer drains down my throat and I’m laughing at a joke. I’m friendly, people are friendly. The world is all kindness.

My sixth(and three fourths) beer in my hand, my head starts to droop and my hips are swaying of their own accord. It’s like the sky has puppet strings, twisting me side to side. The beat controls me, the world whispers my movements. Who whispers to the earth is beyond me.

…am I on my seventh or my eighth beer? People walk off to dark corners, hands on hips and ******* and chests. Still I dance somewhere in the vast dim basement. Still I twirl, rhythm gone but gravity still clinging to the movements.

But where am I? What am I doing here on this dance floor, on this city-planet floating or falling or patiently waiting on the ice-slicked footsteps of space? The world is spinning as it pirouettes around the sun, the sun circling a superstar, that star swirling around the center of the galaxy, spinning like a top in the rest of the full dark silk of space, stars clapping and nebula soaring and supernovas shattering, guests all to the raves of light years. I dance on earth’s doormat drunk and spinning, feeling a giant in my world and a broken bottle in the worlds of others. Oh god, in the words of that song that’s beating in the bones of the earth and the air in my lungs, can we get much higher?
801 · Mar 2014
coward
Jerash Cassare Mar 2014
look at you with your far-off gaze and your laughing eyes and your aloof physique
what a clever calculation

you must be so different from the rest of us
so misunderstood in your
quiet vastness aloneness
yes, you're a special one

look at you climbing tree tops and balancing beams
they believe you're strange, a free spirit, a wanderer

what a ******* lie, telling the world you bear a shield, set your silent lips into a smirk that says ******* while the wrinkles of your forehead beg pardon, beg company, beg stay stay

look at you clinging to your ******* wooded towers climbing for dear life
look at your fear
you are no wanderer, different from the children below
you flee your demons just the same

You, i name you coward.
fear love and loathing (i owe you hunter s. thompson)
622 · Dec 2013
Books
Jerash Cassare Dec 2013
I like to touch
Books

They have soft pages and silk rough raw right wrong revolution words
They cut kings and conquerors and ideas and eras like the axes that severed them from their bark-skinned lives
They chop at the skulls of wise coward sedentary spirit beings
They float like moths as they burn (and they have burned)

They know
They, ink and glue and spine and leaf, live dead paper lives

Books don’t mind the feel of my raw nibbled hands
Chewed down to stubs
As they graze through their insides with scratchy fingers
My fingers feel light
Jerash Cassare Dec 2013
You are something I'm not sure about
     like why leaves sometimes fall and sometimes float
     or waves sometimes break and sometimes don't.

The sound of us trickles in the streams I pass.
It's in the steady beat of feet and concrete
and it's the quiet refusal of moss to make a single sound as two feet pound.
     But another pair might make a sound? Wake the ground? If I churn out rhymes will you get in line?

I'm a single set of feet
crassly attached to a fog and wind and atmosphere of you.
For you are as present as the hawks that circle and the fog that rests
and equally hard to touch.

— The End —