I am a middle-aged grasshopper
fiddling my way to Winter
I can feel it coming
smell it in the air now
my days are getting shorter
and soon I will know my first Winter
and my last
and I see the ants all around me
going about the business of their days
while I fiddle away in mindless joy
I am free from all their cares and concerns
I share none of their worries or woes
and every moment of my life is filled
with more bliss than they will ever know
but the price to be paid is Winter
when the long night comes
they will have time for reflections
they will enjoy a sacrifice-earned peace
and plenty
that I will never know
they will possess a special wisdom
born only of accomplishment
that I am doomed to covet
but never share
the precious sounds I drew from my strings
that spread so much joy to so many for so long
lost now in the howling winds of the storm
and lost soon after even to memory
but that I enjoyed it all every second
to the fullest
every moment but the last
there is no sign to mark my passing through or by
no trace left of me where I danced my life away
but perhaps the impression of an almost imperceptible
****
in the new-fallen snow that covers me where I lay
next to the towering mountain hill of the ants
teeming with the frenzy of the living
who will know a second Spring

I don't want to admit it
I don't want to
have to
admit it
but I like myself better this way
I wish I didn't
but I do
I laugh more
so much more
both longer
and more often
same with the ***
almost the best it's ever been
and nothing like anything
we've seen or felt or been in years
every ****** a god's kiss goodnight
I know I'm killing myself
but we are all going to die
someday
and what is the point in a long life
if it's a miserable slog the whole way?
I'll take a few years off the end
for a ten-fold increase in joy and pleasure
the rest of the time
any day
all day
all day long
There are a hundred other
little reasons
for hating myself for this
a hundred little setbacks
chipping away at my self-worth
but there could be a thousand and it still
wouldn't matter
they just don't add up
they just can't compare to
the ache in my face from laughing so hard
I can't breathe
the feel of her flesh under my hands
swallowing me
the look on her face when she comes
the tears in her eyes when she can't stop laughing at me
or the idiot smile
splitting my face like a knife wound

I wish I were wrong
but this just feels
too right

What if I don't
feel anything
worth writing down?
What if I don't
see anything
that penetrates my eye
with beauty?
that infects my mind
with wonder?
What if
nothing happens
in my ordinary day
to inspire
or bewilder
or amuse?
or arouse
or confuse?
or infuriate
or frustrate
or fascinate?
What if it's just
a day?
just like the day before
and the day after
and I feel nothing
nothing worth saying
nothing worth feeling
out loud
no line to express
or wisdom to surmise
with cutesy-clever
patyourselfonthebackforthinkingofitaren'tyouspecial­
twists of wordplay
Just a day
And what if I have
nothing to say?
I'll say it anyway

x
                                                               ­     Do you remember
                                                        ­                 the last time
                                                            ­        you said the words
                                                           ­                     "I
                                         ­                                     Love
                       ­                                                       you"
     ­                                                                 ­          ?

                                                    ­                +          +          +

    I don't

    I don't remember

    I don't remember
    the last time
    that I said
    "I
    Love
    you"

    I don't remember
    when I said it
    or to whom
    or why

    And now I can't escape this
    rotting feeling
    that this isn't a memory
    we should ever out-grow
    That this isn't a memory
    we should ever out-live
    That this isn't a memory
    we should ever get
    too far away from
    Now that I realize it's gone
    I feel adrift and lost without it
    like a greenhorn just realizing
    he's lost sight of shore
    for the first time

    The sudden realization
    that I couldn't remember
    that I've lost this memory
    that it must've been so long
    since I last said it
    to anyone
    for any reason
    that I've lost it completely
    sits so alien and unreal in me
    That I could've ever lost something
    so important
    something
    that has always just
    been there
    before
    something
    that should just be a backdrop
    to the rest of my life
    now gone
    and I didn't even notice it
    didn't miss it at all
    until now
    It's as if I suddenly realized
    one wall of my house was missing
    exposing us
    letting in the whether
    and I can't even remember
    when it happened

    And this is all only preamble
    just the lead-in
    to the real question
    Why?
    Why can't I remember?
    Why have I forgotten?
    Why has it been so long since I last said it?
    Why haven't I said it?
    Why did I ever stop?

    What am I waiting for?

gotta write
can't write
no time
gotta work
can't stop
too much to do
i can feel it
building up
hard up
hard time
hard line
hard night
coiled wire muscles
stretched tight twang
reverb spinal twitch
sets one eyelid going off
fluttering to start a hurricane
and the whole of it unravels
unless
i can get it out
get it out
get it all out of me
and onto paper
into screen
out to hivemind
out of me
out of me
out of me
one fibrous thread of
twisted steel at a time
all i need
is just a little more time
and a little room to bleed

I spit words

I do not mean to say that
in the street, beat, hip-hop sense
I do not mean that
I spit hot rhymes
I mean

I spit words

they explode from me
suddenly
violently
And they are painful

And I cannot control them