In my sleep
I beg you
Not to do the thing
You are not doing.

I call to you
Over and over,
Waking in a panic
That I have betrayed my reality.

You appear to me in crowds,
Where I see you in strangers
Who bare no resemblance.

I double take
And take again,
Searching for your face.

I bring you up in conversation
Because most stories
And topics
Are scored by the song
Of your memory.

I beg myself to stop,
To let silence overtake your name,
But still, I talk about you.

Like an aftertaste varnishing my mouth,
You linger.
Maybe, in my speaking,
I am trying to spit you out.

I plead with myself
That it is only proximity
That keeps you on the periphery
Of my perception.

That time enough
Has not gone by
To rinse your stain
From my senses.

Or it follows that new strain
In the same place
Would rouse an aching
In old wounds.

I wonder if I could be
Keeping a secret from myself.
If part of me knows something
The rest of me doesn't.

No, it could not be that I dream,
I search, I speak
In hope.

No, it is not
An involuntary manifestation
Performed by the masochistic
Other Self.

If the vestiges of you
Navigate through fear,
I will need to be brave.

If they are self-conjured aspirations,
A punishment must be found.

But maybe it is simply
The way of injury
And restoration.

That the grief
Should wax and wane
Until a different sun rises.

We would say
"Never, my love."

The song
Is slow and short.

You find it pressed into wax
And leave it where I remain.

Do you know that I
Never grew tired of you?

Brown velour vintage,
Silk under piles of waste.

You wear my affection still,
And I pretend to wish I wasn't so generous.

The song is short
And simple enough.

Three credits left to graduate,
Hours still to drive,
I will never regret what I gave.

We would say
"Never, my love,"
Could we call each other strangers.

Do you know that I never
Grew tired of you?

I didn't write this. This is something my grandmother wrote and gave me a few years ago. She passed away a coupe of days ago. She wanted to be a writer, but life had other plans.

“To Elizabeth, my precious Granddaughter.

‘I’ve traveled paths you’ve yet to walk,
Learned lessons old and new,
And now this wisdom of my life
I’m blessed to share with you.

Let kindness spread like sunshine,
Embrace those who are sad,
Respect their dignity
And give them joy,
And leave them feeling glad.

Forgive those who hurt you
And though you have your pride,
Listen closely to their viewpoint,
Try to see the other side.

Walk softly when you’re angry,
Try not to take offense,
Invoke your sense of humor,
Laughter’s power is immense.

Express what you are feeling,
Your beliefs you should uphold,
Don’t shy away from what is right,
Be courageous and be bold.

Keep hope right in your pocket,
It will guide you day by day,
Take it out when it is needed,
When it’s near you’ll find a way.

Remember friends and family,
Of which you are a precious part,
Love deeply and love truly,
Give freely of your heart.

The world is far from perfect,
There’s conflict and there’s strife,
But you can still make a difference,
By how you live your life.

And so I’m blessed to know
The wonders you will do
Because you are my grandchild
And I believe in you.’

-Love Always, Grandmom F”

Seeing red,
I follow the glow
Like a beacon in the distance,
True north to follow course
Through insipid suffering.

Smoke in my nose
Blackening my lungs
With armor forged from ash and ember,
The scent wakes me
Like epinephrine through asystole.

Rage rings my head like a bell,
Drawing me out of my corner.
I crave carnage,
Foaming at the mouth
In an empty ring,
A spectacle of desperation.

My senses all ablaze,
I feel I’ve earned the privilege
To bask in the exaltation
Of resonating wrath.

Finally indulging in justified indignation,
Giving myself a break
From despondent self-flagellation,
I am not ready to give up the pleasure
Of pulsating apoplexy.

I let fury singe away my pitiful defeatism,
My pathetic victimhood,
But I am warned
That while attempting to thaw
From hypothermic quadriplegia,
One may find the seduction of self-immolation
Too persuasive to deny.

But I know my limits,
I tell myself.
I’ll stop when I want to.
I’ll know when I’ve had enough.

I swear I will stay vigilant,
Taking my temperature,
Checking my pulse.
I will not let this righteous ire
Burn out of control.

Slow Sadness, hello again.
Sometimes I miss you
When I overtake lucidity
On my ascension to indulgence.

Sometimes when my thoughts
Vacate my body
And spin around me like a mobile in the wind,
I crave your stillness,
Be it in aching obscurity.

So your meanderings have caught up with mine
And I will lie down in surrender to your encumbrance.
Contentedly, I find amusement in the sound
Of my bones snapping like toothpicks,
Breaking like dry twigs under your pressure,
Allowing paralysis to saturate me.

Motionless, I feel the pain
While rejoicing in the reprieve from
My manic pursuit of pleasure.
Now, the exigency of ecstasy
Cannot possess me like a puppet
And send me in search of titillating trouble.

And each time you find me
Reeling about in madness,
I see the lasso being thrown
And I wait in repose
To be snared by your rope.

I will follow you back
To wherever it is you call home
And acquiesce to your suppression
With satisfaction in my eyes.

For each time we meet,
I pray it is our last congress.
Every time you come to me
I throw down my defenses
And angle my head under your shadow
Hoping that the impact will be swift.

I lean into the assault,
Spun out like a top
Ready for the spinning to stop.
I beg you, be heavy
And fall with precision
So that this oscillation may end.

I do not have the stomach
To stand another turn
Around the wheel of my own whim.
My eyes get more crossed
And my hair more tangled
Each time around
This cycle of survival.

So, Sadness, welcome.
Stop playing with your dinner
And **** me like you mean it.
I will aid in the slaying
As much as I am able.
I will prime myself for sacrifice
Like a fawn in a frenzy
And point you to the soft spots
So you can do the digging.

I have changed and I am changing.
Like this town,
Old facades fall
And the promise of a better way
Rises from the rubble of memories
Warm and familiar.

The old and the new find space here.
The stone past and the fluid present,
The river and the bridge,
The arches of then bend over
The current of now,
Cut out and carved,
Twisting and flowing.

Lines cast still,
Hooks reel in empty
And they do it all again,
As I love and lose
And do it all again,
Rebuilding my abutments
For a third time since arriving here.

This time the work is slow.
One hand shovels,
Filling in the holes love left behind
When it departed.
Ripping my supports from their foundation
Deep in the earth,
Beneath the running water.

The other scrubs away the future
From the slate of my expectations.
As what was etched there
Has turned to mere delusion,
I must start again at engraving
A more plausible picture.
But the lines were chiseled deep
By my determined hands
So the work of erasing draws on and on.

To create and destroy at the same time,
Like the water erodes the bank
While carrying the assurance of life
Through the verdant landscape
To the abundant sea.

I wish I could call this growth.
While I hope this laboring is not in vain
There is no knowing if any of it will leave me
With the foundation of self I seek.
This backbreaking toil
Is merely to break even,
To give me a dry place to stand.

The sun now departs.
Orange dipping behind green
The light turns blue,
And I need a jacket.
Shivering, I stand
To find warmth.