I know what it feels like
To be isolated
stranded on an island
in a sea of meaningful conversation
so remote you need binoculars
to find people holding hands

thats not us today
not you second mom
not me failing educator
but us
jovial and talkative
skipping down mainstreet
stopping in pocket parks
to plan our towns future

i want to take you somewhere
that place that we used to go
well not together
that breakfast place
's been around for a half century
well
its not there any more
its a bar now
look ill buy you a shiner
and you just sit there
look pretty
and write on this dollar

and thats what she wrote
"b [star] [heart]"
with the shapes there instead
just over washingtons face
and i made for it a frame
just in the corners
and the new bartender
stapled it right in plain view
above the ***** section
down at the end
where the old men talk about
the ways that it hasnt
or never will
work out for them

you embody their silent shrine now
you are reigning over the space
where they come to be lonely
but talkative though
the place where they come
to find people with whom to hold hands
to skip down main street
to stop in pocket parks
and talk about the way
things need to be changed
and how [we] can change them

this all could have been mine
geometric shape wallpaper
and dashes, dots on my sheets
mom making my bed
smoking non-filtereds
and staring in the direction of
old globes and stuffed squirrels
posters of campuses i should i have attended

shirt no pants
no shirts
scribbling something partially worth reading
legs crossed
listening to that song for the fiftieth time
ashing on the floor
waiting by the phone for you and only you

but this isnt home
i didnt grow up here
i slept here
i embraced those who meant something
i giggled till tears
dripped into my oil paints
but even watered down they were made of use

a spring in this bed is
right the **** up my ***
springy is what they call me now
ill scrape those stickers off
a six inch blade till dawn
and i would be no closer

to those days where i cheesed
where you begged for me
where i began to loose myself
where i became less of a person
and more of a character to you all
cartoonish

no
my home is not here
and if you try to get me to own
a single element of it all
ill decry it
i know its not healthy
but i was thinking
that i could make up the difference

in my bedroom
not only with my hands on you
a gentle graze
or light and deserving
application of the pucker
but with my pen to pulp
and a gush to the world
so that a secret might
be known to us all
not just me

the first word that i received from you
when my eyes cracked apart
"hatred"
between hatred and "no"
no was the beginning of the last things
there was a flurry of expressions that reminded
me of you
the real you
all things that we only whisper to each other
like a sting of cartoon hearts
"tell me youre alive"
"i hate your guts"
"secret telling sessions"
"lord father god"
but that wasnt you today
you were that overly independent
woman who
holds my hand when she wants
only to beat me in private
you dont get to pick
when you have someone
like you have me
i have no on off switch
i stay on
this is no co-dependence
this is me relying on you
for rescue from my own
loneliness
dramatization
and voice

i talk to my self in my sleep
without you
mostly jibberish
but that one percent
of real-life murmuring
that sobbing speech
MEANS something
im not sure what
quite yet
nor will i ever i suspect
im still taking notes though
but i guaran-*******-tee you
it doesnt mean things are swell
peachy ******* keen

i ask for no lap dog
but for a cohort
i desire no therapist
but for a co-conspiritor
i yearn for no nurse maid
but for an equal

a woman who
i dont have to teach
but am taught by
a fellow ex-patriot
who still believes in no borders
a woman with a skerple
ready to write on my walls

i witnessed a yoga class
at south by
push ups
downward dog and happy baby
**** cheeks
whispers
watch me
watch me name things
this
that
and the other lover
oh
thats me too
im two terrible people at once
pages run
too thin
though i have enough
blood to supply
those that remain

who needs blood when
innards spew plentifully
who needs a pen
when a finger will suffice
why paper when a bar window
begs for my inscription

look

downward ******* dog man
easy in
vocal out
its really not that hard
you just need to work on your balance

you knew
and now you know
the ways that i loved
did i use PAST TENSE
that wasnt me
it was the cat typing
i wouldnt insult you
brilliant person you
there is no hate here
i bleed for our kind
the two of us
denied
both denied and yearning
there is no abuse that can resolve
no chastisement to
cause me to perjurer
i have nothing for which to lie
about or for or with
open as a book i smile
smirk even
wag your finger my way
shake a fist
stomp me
i dont move
unless given permission

squirrels and opossums and birds of paradise
because im screaming
profanity into the trees
they can hear me scratching my sores
flaking scabs onto the crumbly floor
to integrate myself with the remains
of generations past
they can all hear me
crack the first beer of the morning
and pour it out for my love
no longer here
they can hear me all
repeat myself and pace
atop the pecan shells crunching
but the cap of the bottle spins
whirling around its rings
for a glug
and they all scutter, scamper, and waggle off
only proving my point
a terrible mood to be around

this might not be centered
more that likely left aligned
im looking for the significance
that others toss in your direction ceremoniously
with flat or sharp tones
and sweets
paper and ribbons
provided some measure of luck
with cheer and toasts
a new look and ease of mind
but three hundred and sixty five is not enough
how about three thousand

oh i searched
for that one lane that lead me through
the connected boughs above the sod
where the setting sun shone in between the trunks
the patriarch at its tip
i turned frustrated toward the triangle
that one remote turn-around point
to return home to a tune jangly
remorseful
that more time wasnt spent in awe
of all the places that have yet to be seen
remorseful
of the places below the rising moon
yet too be seen
of the places where puke has not yet been spewed
scrawling poetry on the back
of a dusty trunk
alone only with the spirit of her
laughing and chastising
this can only become more respectable
more
more
constructive
and wheels meander
and gears shift
until
im beneath a willow
long dead
cartwheel in
flop down
eyes closed
and dream

i crouched
one knee to the floor and one up
facing god and his holy host
gasping for air and dribbling
knowing everyone that ive hurt indefinitely
wishing none of it was true
taking it back with tears
hoping "were alone now"
would ever be made honest
when the tune dies down
and the crust dries
on my high cheeks
something may have been developed
my mind anew
thoughts reconfigured
life repositioned
with imaginations like these
who needs

what are those called
cousins
no
the other ones
concerns

close enough

im not writing anymore
***** my cigarette on the hardwood
pouring out my drink in the bathtub
lay next to a speaker until
well
forget it
sleep and wake up
3am
i dont blame them
write what no one reads

rinse.repeat.