I stroke your skin like a leaf
and hold it up to the light,
allowing fingertips

           to go slow from root to tip.
           to sew the lining where two unlike materials meet.
           to code this friction into tactile intuition...

And yet--

                                                      I am afraid.

With this and all acts of temptress divination.

                                                I, I...am afraid.

I want to read our intersection.

I want
            to see               in your life-line.
                        myself.


First, I will find the highways of your pulse-

watch as they
                           give way to country roads.

Dissecting life-ways into bi-ways

where I can go slow from

root                         to                             tip.

                                rise
Feel the land
                                                       and fall.

from grass
to hallowed knoll-

Throw me dirt and blow out your windows.
                           
Take me slow
                                        down the side roads.

Next, I consult
the creases of your open fist.

Gone are the fine blue lines
                                                         -the tomographic
Heat, and its rhizomatic
                                              beat.

Instead, you hold me in this underpass

[the clamminess and opposite-land of passion and speed]
                                          where
                             [shadows cling and relationships keep].

You hold my hand.

To leave, and blast!
                                                 - to stay, I will need a map.

Hide me here long enough to find beauty
in the fine etched lines
that paint the walls in broad swoops of graffiti:
those cryptic tag-lines that advertise your witty, poetic celebrity.

from finger to wrist

                   arc
             the      to the thumb

the pulse that could run
on and on.

[our] distant reflection
                            -a mirage in the rising sun.
where

the earth line cuts off the air line

to fuse the heart-              and the head
                                                            ­                    -line.

I go out for coffee
to see the display.
A dozen glass cases
Faces polished,
gleaming wares-
People eating their gaze
to divide the public air.

You must be polite when sharing space.
Beware of sliding eyes
too slow, too fast, sideways.

I come to these places
to be seen
to find coy reservation

But mostly I come
to steep ***
And brew tension
This my coffeeshop menagerie
Where I wish to be the voyuer
And you the view.

Perhaps it is the caffeine
but I feel a quickening,  
a fogging of thought
sensing you there.

So I'll test my tea
boost immunity,
Break glaze my glass shield,
burn and remember
I can't disappear.

Yours-
an earnest stare
refracting
my glass-eyed fear.

You clench your shaking hands,
And do not move from the place from which you stand.
And say “I'm fine” “I'm fine” with conviction,
Though I don’t recall anyone has asked.

They say if your not careful,
You become what you despise,
Control the shaking, clench the fist,
But don’t you close your eyes.

And you think that you can stop it,
How you tremble to the bone,
But you don’t really have a choice,
This is something we all know.

So just go ahead and say it,
It's on the tip of your tongue,
It wallows on your painted skin,
It pours from your eyes like a flood.

Go ahead just paint it,
Write it all down,
Scream it, sing it,
Or even whisper it out loud.

Tell us this fight means nothing,
You’re just standing your ground,
But the truth is that you’ve lost,
Something that can’t ever be found.

Blood is not thicker than water
Just harder to wash out

Me the perpetual messiah
Trying to fix
all broken things
The never-ending, savior complex-

Like that bird we found in our backyard
When I was five;
And I had to learn that
"All living things die-"

I wish mom would've taught me that
"You cant save everyone"
Instead.

You are not a bird
You don't suffer from broken wings
Your wound's are internal
Invisible

Forever perplexing the mind of
thousands of
boggled doctors

Like I was supposed to pick up
What an X-Ray couldn't.

And inject you with some secret serum
That escaped from my lips
I spent so much time
Trying to clasp your wounds shut
So much energy
But you bled out
Right in front of me

You aren't a friggin' bird.

And I cant save you.

Stu-stu-stuttering
Under those beautiful shadows
Near edgar street
Halloween, light lamps
pumpkins
Sh-sh-shaking hands
You looked so
broken
shattered

"You haven't been yourself lately."
"Well maybe I have."
"No no no this isn't you."
"Maybe it is, maybe im just sick of pretending."
-"Have you been eating?
When's the last time you had a goodnight's sleep?"
"Why does it matter..."

I wanted to remember how the light illuminated your cheekbones
But made those shadows under your eyes darker
They seemed to taunt your face
Dancing around producing fearful images
I was surprised you were still awake
What a beautiful mess you looked...
What a beautiful mess you looked like

"Y-you-you think the world is a beautiful place dont you?"
"I think It can be." You looked haunted.
"Yeah, for those who sleep."

Charles D. Jay died on October 12, 2011
My great uncle
I never said one word to him my whole life
In the will he left my grandma everything
He was crushed after the death of his wife in 2010
And then the death of his dog Sandy in early 2011
Then like clockwork colon cancer

Walking into that house
The smell of coffee and old carpet
A smell I was all too flamiliar with
Growing up in Southern Baptist churches
You can't get away from stuff like that

He left it all in that house
Just packed in
Room after noon
Were talking about a little mansion here
He had a dining room and everything
Big old piano that he must have enjoyed playing
I took that old thing and loaded up all by myself in the back of a pick up and now its at home
In the middle of my livingroom
With drink circles and ash trays like at some club

Making it back to the house
I checked his study
Filled with books
And beautiful black vinyl records
Every single jazz musician from Dizzy to Armstrong
He had em' all the standards- the jivers-big band-street bands
Even the priceless club jam sessions
People clapping
And yellin
Hollerin'
Trumpets and sax
Foot tapping
Needless to say
I spent the rest of that night drunk on Charle's most expensive bottle of gin
Jazz records
Pulled from sleeves
On the couch
Covering the floor
Every record he had ever bought
That was his real funeral
Because I know if I died
I would want someone to listen through every song I ever loved

Even if it is just a couplet or a pove loem to the girl at the pizza place
I am going to write something
Maybe it will be about you? Or me? Us?
Or maybe I will walk outside and get hit by a car...
You know what on second thought, I might write two things today

mindless
careless

                        *****.


helpless when it rains and he says, i'm alone at this coffee shop
i'll make you tea

powerless
to his book collection, singer voice, fingers

wordless
when he reaches the end of his
                                        
                                          investigation
                                          so called destination

invent and deny and deny and invent just to have an                  escape route.

endless

so you look out at the ****** city and see the bright lights of waking up and you want to think it's ugly
ugly as this situation
ugly as your conviction


it's beautiful as ****

regardless.




i love someone else.

I woke up this morning
And made coffee and got in the car
I drove half-way to work when I saw that same
God ****** Jesus Loves You billboard on 95
I turned around and went back to fish in the inlet
I spent the rest of the day smoking my grandpas pipe
And cutting my fingers with a pocket knife
I hope I get fired