you're heavy today.
like the ropes you'd ask me
to pull up onto the bow of the boat.
that was last summer
when my knees knocked together
and my ac didn't work right.
the sweat still sticks to me.
the smell is strong.
like your scotch and
your tobacco and
the warm one
with the sweet undertones.
the one you wore to every dinner
under your jacket.
the one in the half-bottle
that was the only thing
on the whole of your bathroom counter.
the one i think of now in this weird place
the searing heat of your voice
and waxing poetic
over the veins in your arms.
and since i'm being honest,
i've always been jealous
of every glass
you put to your lips.
where they found
the soft of your flesh
i found the grit of teeth
and the sharpness of your tongue.
and for a second,
i almost miss that iron taste,
that tangle of ropes
and the hard spots on the pads of my fingers.
down on my palms,
the callouses have faded.
my hands are soft now,
strengthened from the burns
of braided rope
and pie pans
made hot by the grip of july.
Last bit of nostalgia for the last bit of July. This is an old one I've been working on for a while and finally got around to finishing. It feels good to be finished and to let this go.
i was born on a Monday
all other details have been omitted for their irrelevance
unimportant in the way the morning dew could have clung to the humid trees crying impossibly from the heat
or that on that side of the world everything was brand new but ostensibly old to someone else
my nature doesn't allow me to believe in the mystical and even fate is a faraway dream that I only let myself cradle when I'm feeling particularly whimsical
like right after eating a suspiciously delicious fruit or the fizz from my carbonated drink still remaining even after two hours of sitting forgotten on my kitchen table
the stars do not dizzy me and the twirl that you tried so hard to perfect while spinning me did not sweep me off my feet
but it did garner a sort of appreciation for the way things are
the way they have always been and in that there are little instances of magic gone unnoticed
I was born on a Monday
a casual work day for anybody
routine and abundant
auspicious and careful even in the way I first opened my eyes to see those rays of sunlight I can't remember but know were there
behind a curtain or shrouded past a family of trees
something in the way things start
I'm far from you
My heart races,
ten steps too fast,
To fix imaginary wounds.
My head hurts so bad,
My legs won't stop,
The cries of my lonely self
I miss you.
I miss him
As I was about to say, this is art
in a word,
official authorized art intelleogence of the utmost
asif cosplay caused
-- something strange just hapt...
consider this first
the s i d e r
in insider is some same with the
sider in con sider,
sidereal, you know
what that means.
consider this art
that thinks with you,
There are monks,
for pray-ers to take as answers found in
shade on hot July days... asif
a twinkle of a hope.
In joy, a mellow state.
Yes, I can smell the gunpowder all right.
And sure, I can hear the 'pom' 'pom' in the distance of the bombs bursting in air and whatnot.
But I'm not seeing the red glare itself.
From every angle, I'm not getting any of the rainbow foofaraws as was advertised.
Instead, it's just me and the dog here.
I'm just dizzy with conflicting ideas of what being 'here' means.
Anyways, I'm too busy, tired and dispossessed of my patriotism to really give a rah-rah anywho.
I guess you can keep the fireworks.
there's mud on the front steps
the pools in other people's houses always seem much cleaner than yours to you
when you dip your toes into the chlorine water you think that only the extremely lucky can be devoid of dirt
the thought lurches away from you with each tide your body makes
and you forget what you're really arguing about in the first place
like a band-aid that unsticks when you're not looking
leaving an exposed scab and an embarrassing gravity when you think of whoever will find it next
when driving through houses that all look alike and the expanse is nothing but dry look-alike lawns in the middle of lush trees you can
imagine if you really try that at the end of one of those roads it will eventually lead you to the beginning of the ocean you admire so much
the gravel road kissing sand for miles until you can feel the salty breeze lick your eyes
and once again nothing can hurt you
and once again you're pure in your actions
summer reminds me of riding the public bus with a cd player to big to fit in the pocket of my sweater
For many years, you were our family's breadwinner.
Your money paid for our breakfasts, lunches and dinners.
Because of my mental impairment, you continued to support me after I turned eighteen.
You could've outworked two twenty year olds, you were the hardest worker I've ever seen.
After twenty months of chemotherapy, you lost your fight.
Your battle with Leukemia ended six years ago tonight.
For the last two days of your life, you couldn't even reply to what people said.
When I received a call from my sister-in-law, she informed me that you were dead.
Your existence on Earth ended at around 10:20 PM.
One day I'll go to Heaven and I will see you again.
Dedicated to Charles F. Johnson (1947-2013) who died on July 13, 2013.
Many a summer ago,
I dwelt with aching heart
On that forgotten road
The small, dim, summer star
Tireless, but slow and sad
But among them all
She’s the only one that
I've been reading some of Robert Frost's poetry lately, and it's just so beautiful, I decided to start a series based on this inspiration, called "'Frost'y Thoughts". :) This one started out as a black out poem and is based on Frost's "Ghost House". Please let me know what you think!
i once saw on television a man taking a bath while a woman drew nearer and nearer with a hair dryer that she dropped into the water
there were wisps of lightning bolts and my fear of electrical sockets found footing
flourishing in the air pockets of a hypersensitivity that harbored phobias as I deemed fitting
that summer the thunderstorms seemed heavier than usual and when the power went out your nose instantly gained sweat and my stomach tightened at the idea of a tornado coming to sweep us away
towards another state that didn't seem so heckled by natural disasters but those don't exist and the barren landscape can almost eat you until you disappear
you're afraid of aging and I'm afraid of not aging gracefully
everyone talks about how time is eternal but as I declutter my apartment I realize time can be found and that the ending comes when things leave a space
i told you i hated july
the heat made me want to die
the lakes were too muddy and pools too crowded to find a place to cool
the city was too slow paced to find anything to do with the vast amount of free time
and any activity was too much for my wallet to spare
but it was all a lie
i love the sun
i love the lakes
i love the city and all the things it has to share
i really only hate july
because it's the month i had to stop being with you