Cher journal,

Je n’ai point envie de te décrire ma journée périlleuse.
Tout ce que je ne veux, c’est t’écrire des vers inoubliables,
Que mon cœur, me dicte, éprit par la beauté de ce monde.
Car, tu es le mémoire, qui restera dans les mémoires.

I hear you breathing in.
The days are fading in.
My eyes are wide open.
Days speed past me.
If you need me, run to me.

The nights are fusing together.
The mornings aren't there.

My eyes are wide open.

All around me are memories

I understood I would never marry,
buy a house, have kids,
mow the lawn on Saturday,
wash cars, clean the pool.

I had an atypical plan,
thinking back, for my life:
a wanderer, adventurer or pilgrim
without want of firm roots.

Each destination a chance happening,
an introduction to the unexamined.
Sidewalks, cafes, alleyways, and life
being lived, journaled for remembrance.

The North Country, New York;
Watertown, Carthage, Clayton and Ogdensburg,
strolling their streets dripping
history and memoirs never told.

Lassoing thoughts from wild conversation
with caffeinated coffee shop poets,
struggling with Calvinistic thought streams
and priests in moments of doubt.

My theories in marble.
Gently chiseled with each interaction,
chipped, thoughts evolve
leaving inference among spilt beans.

All memories and dreams mingle.
l hold them gently.
As midnight creeps I’m untethered,
drifting from the shoal once more.


Suddenly I sense wonder:
The Appalachian Trail at Katahdin,
Continental divide at Loveland Pass,
Mount Hood from Pacific Crest.

Have you ever witnessed
views of Mojave’s Kelso Dunes?
Felt the Great Basin’s rainshadow chill,
or contemplated Joshua Trees in prayer?

Often the life of could have been
is more lucid than I am,
kneeling gnarled,
pulling obstinate weeds.

Shallow breath’d and gazing… scanning
my cut grass, clear pool,
a loving wife, adoring children,
my home…

This man,
mind wandering,
acquiesces,
to clarity of thought.

I would have… could have
been that man, that other life,
a Walter Mitty dreaming
a life; mine.

I am in a disoriented dream.
too young to know,
twenty years have passed
almost two years
and you were there or almost near.

its because i'm confused
or i don't understand--
my being in yours

why the moon shines so bright
and I exist this certain way.
but you took me to a place

inside four small walls,
one small space, a tub, a mirror
one bed, near the hills
of San Gabriel and the concrete

We sat in a tree and jumped a fence
but emotions ran too high
and I never added up quite right
in your mind--

My words spoiled the truth
and they stained the trust
they weaved together anger
and spilled tears

We wanted and tried
so hard for love,
I relied on you
you relied on me

yin and yang
we sat, interconnected
yet opposing each other
our energies combining
and combating

We sipped a bottle of sky
in the friendly El Monte
I left your side, I've left your side
too many times..

but you came back
pounding on the door of the Scenic
, your there and
I never want to let go again

and your body feels perfect next to mine
never wanting to leave
that bed
wanting to drift back to sleep
in your arms

but we leave this place,
The Scenic becomes
a memory
and now thats all thats left.
hoping you might still remember me.