there’s something very special
about sitting still
in the black
in the tunnel on the train
a kid paces through the cars
the lights in the door shake
and a feather dances
in the corridor
a man is speaking
to his friend on the phone
he is drunk
but very tranquil
he left the club because even though it was some chicks birthday
it was too boring
and he fell asleep
and a part of me wants to sit in this moment forever
as he slurs onward
in far too many words
complaining that we’re still not moving
like music
oh **** we’re moving
and that guy is gone
and i think i might be drunk too

—

i’m learning
every day

how to live in a place
and always feel a longing for home
its empty here
i dont belong
and im not welcome
or im someone else

i dont think i know
the person you see
when you look at me

i feel crazy
like the love i show you
is invisible
or the words we say
sound different to me
than they do to you
our anger misplaced

we’re wrapped up
in something
all tangled
blind behind the mess

but we’re just hanging on so tight
to all the *******
that if we just let go
let it all go
we would find the
knots loosening
we would find our
blindness and
frustration
falling like ropes
releasing our bodies
so
we can be close
touching, even
but not attached

i think that’s what
love is?

oh here we go
write it out
write it again
however I like
we are no less typical
we were

someday
you'll be a sliver of life
quietly stinging in the back of my mind

I hope there's a few new
stray grays in your beard
just for me
I hope you find my hair
in all  your clothes
one or two trailing down your legs
like snakes as you shower
I hope they're green
I hope they make you cry
I hope I haunt you forever

you already haunt me

I wanna sneak around
and leave weird notes on your truck
while you're sleeping
and really I should leave you alone
but I just got this little itch
that you don't really want me to

but I've calmed down
I think I see you
where your head's at
and you're probably right

but so was I.
I'll get there.

there was a time, I think
it may have been your birthday
I was wandering
wondering, and I went there
I asked myself
"what will end this?"
"what will end us?"
I was almost too scared
but the end surfaced, without warning
"it'll be his self-doubt. he'll give up."                        

I was right.
but that doesn't matter
this morning the thought occurred to me
that maybe you knew
that what we had was due to expire
and I consumed that thought
with the expired milk in my coffee
and it consumed me.
did you?
what a cruel thing to do.

that photo you took of me
you said I looked beautiful
you looked breathless
but as the shadows darkened
I saw it.
I looked happy.
truly happy.
I felt a lump somewhere between you and my heart
and a welling in my eyes
I thought
"that's how happy he makes me"
that was friday
today is monday
that photo: please remember me then.
that's how happy you made me

okay, this is what I made.
this is what I'm -- made of ?
I can't specify
reality anymore.
there is no difference to me
between the edges
in life and the edges in dreaming
sometimes.
do you ever wake up
when you're already awake?
more like my consciousness
will occasionally splash me in the face with mortality
and a deep sense of presence
and unease.
anyway
this dreaming thing's got me thinking
feeling a little bit maybe
like i haven't woken up in weeks
and I wonder every day.
you know, when I was younger, I had a dream
that I smoked a cigarette.
the sensation was so real,
that although I'd never actually had one
I woke up believing that I was addicted to cigarettes.
the sensation was so real
so like the real thing.
when I was even younger, I had a
reoccurring dream about a house.
I was so young that I couldn't comprehend.
I was fearful and I could not move.
the earth was shaking and
I felt gravel in my skin and
something
was blocking my way to safety.
to safety, to the house.
I would wake with a start and run to
my mother's arms for comfort.
I recently stumbled across a photo
of a house.
a bombed out shelter somewhere in palestine
a very similar house.
and of course now I can't find it
but it haunts me...
--do you ever hear the music?
the music the earth makes when
everything is silent?
it's a kind of humming
so soft and complex that nothing
quite compares.
this is the music that I dance to.
so when I say I don't dance
I only mean that I don't dance for you.
I end up longing for moments
that I've failed to find here.
a sort of nostalgia
for things that never happened
or perhaps for the future.
for a painting I never made
a person I never met.
I forget sometimes that longing
is only that.
but nevermind.
whatever I was
I am no longer.
and that's fine.
I find that I don't recognize
my reflection, my expressions
anymore.
I'm drawing conclusions about who I am
from an outdated sense of self
a person I let go
when being her wasn't an option anymore.
and I lost a few things
in the move, so to speak.
a little patience here and there
some of those calloused morals that kept me quiet
and a handful of doubts that had been lurking
in the corners of my mind.
I'm almost at a loss.
If you were to ask me who I am
I would tell you to ask anyone else
or maybe that I'm a decorative houseplant

sometimes, when I'm in a crowded place
and the voices just get too loud
I just wanna leave. in that moment of
panic
I wanna walk away
just turnaround walkaway
and never come back
go find a rock somewhere
in front of the ocean
and I wanna just sit there and smoke like
six cigarettes

but I never do
I just let my eyes cloud over
and cringe at the peak
of every over-rehearsed laugh

sometimes it gets so bad
I grind my teeth til my bones hurt
like, on the inside

like when my dad told me today
"you know, you should try making more eye contact with people"
and I nearly lost it
I swear my teeth are still humming
and I try to tell him why without crying
and he doesn't understand
and he keeps trying to catch my eye

don't try to help me
and for god's sake don't
please don't
try to ******* fix me

I wait
I wonder why
the life
       blood
has stopped
flowing from my
hands

I am a sapling in winter
stunted
frozen
brittle

I miss this
the photosynthesis

the static whisper
between paper
and finger

smudges
scorches

come spring
come forth

and I am a tree

I can feel my patience
fading away
frustration with cold
and loud
and hot
and waiting
and hunger
I started tapping my
feet and fingers again
unrest for the weary
doubts and happiness
equally fleeting
disproportionately
resonating
through caverns
vast to hold
worlds
I have not maintained
patience falls ill
patience dies
patience waits for no one