has it really been thirteen years since we dreamed of the city surrounded by cornfields
19 was a different lens hot august evenings staring at the stars on the rockslide in the quarry by your father's house where we drifted deeper into love and ardor
in the heat of an endless summer, the unflinching drift towards new romance and dreams of marriages and sacred vows and well, where did it all lead us, and where are we now?
in interceding years came new flames and hurricanes and always those roads turned back towards you, didn't they i sat for you for your paintings and i fell more and more in love with someone whose heart could never let me stay
now, what have we come to, and what have we learned?
32 a new lens with clearer eyes and i surmise now that i knew not where that road would go i kept the promise that i'd made, just in a different way past the barns and the long highways i'd dreamed of with you
glacial, time continues on and memories are fleeting but fond
has it really been thirteen years since i knew the joy of you
a short piece for a first love in memory. this sort of sprung to life after reading a ~2007 poetry collection i'd done in college and i wondered "what if i revisit some of this with the lens of being more than a decade removed from it?" - and i like the gentleness of the overall piece, too. it felt pleasant to be vulnerable here.
Oh Dionysus. How I miss you, but your blood....gives me anxiety. It makes people hate me, I can't stand to be alone.
I can't say I don't miss dancing with you But it's not much of a party with just the two of us. No one else is willing to dance for long.
There was a time where you were, my only friend and you would smile and take me in your arms while I sobbed and enjoyed the haze of your being. I in turn, worshipped you. Even if research, candles and hymns, libations of your own blood and my perfume could hardly be enough.
It's all I have, my lord.
While I miss the roiling, twisting madness of your magnificence I shouldn't be there. I want to be, desperately but I pick up a bottle and look at myself in disgust and shame. It's not you, it's me. This is far from a disillusionment of gods. I will still dance, my lord, just perhaps not as closely as before.
I am white clouds Immobile Blue sky drifting Apart from me cicadas buzz loudly Bare back on hot cedar planks Mindfulness in bloom Ideas like dandelion seeds Arise before floating beyond the roof line I am time— The lawnmover engine turns, reality returns.
Poised to succeed In all of your dreams You have the support And the means Endured a painful trek Metamorphosed from a disdainful wreck But you’d rather be something else Than a large paycheck All the agonies Pursued through wistful blasphemies Have led to naught But a sorrowful eucatastrophe Because you have bills due Things to live up to It’s wishful thinking Wanting to paint the skies blue.