"backporch" poems
I dodge most every postcard
to be washed away in defeat
because there's something
about self destruction
that keeps the world off my reality
other people spitting dust bunnies
when they speak
clouding my language with their foul mouthed debris
becoming a mountain of dirt
I can't get over
these words
for real
aren't me
I
am
becoming
a valley where I hide between
the outside of everybody
and my wildest dreams
From the tops of moments
I breath
in slippery slopes
and hold for backporch memories
the neighbors are away
so it's ok to get loud and free
my darling there are
the cattails from your mamas creek
connected to the dots
that I trace back through memories
from my perch upon now
my junkyard soul
noticing wheels that are missing
from the things they were made to roll
into a tire swing
into racing streetlights
for scraped knees turning to
children remembering a wedding ring
because we told them marriage was how you take honesty
and make it concrete
before we took their honesty
and made it history
I
am trying to build something
that wont blow away with the leaves
oh I turn red blushing blood though my veins that are like trees
bound to be framed in some hillside autumn landscape of me
with words that have always been too vague
to translate my name
but as I grow that's subject to change
as is everything
so I'll consider of what I am made
and all that water may wash away
all of desire's delays
turning fatalistic denial
into some authentic decay
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
This is where it started,
on the basement floor
Everything felt colder and farther away than usual
I couldn't wrap my head around it
You could
And then it moved in to my closet
crept over there on Halloween night
I could hear you breathing heavily for days
I felt it on my neck
I never could shake that feeling
I was pleased once, on my bedroom floor
When I was in control
Thought I understood, something I just couldn't
But you were miserable on the backporch
with a cigarette in mouth
And you still are,
I was drinking chocolate milk.
Then,
in your car,
I didn't want you
or you
or you
or you.
In the pool I was drowning,
but that was my own fault.
I hate to swim.
And then that night I was lonely
and you were home.
But now.
I'm still lonely
and you won't leave me alone.
But you, you were nice.
You wanted to know about me.
And you were fine floating there.
But in August I didn't want you
and now we're both somewhere else.
And by the beach
I met you when I was confused
and it only made things worse.
Crumbling.
Entering college.
I hated myself.
And apparently so did you.
Sometimes I wonder how you are,
when I remember to wonder.
And on your dorm bed, you were nice.
And on his dorm bed, he wasn't.
I wish you didn't find humor in sick things
and eat all of my peanut butter.
Because we almost got along.
Then I fell for your accent
And your blonde hair--
..Oops
And in the bushes
Your friend was throwing up,
I tried to help.
Sorry I took it
but
you took my time.
And under the cold lights,
you were most similar to me
But only from a distance.
And in your room
I don't know why you happened.
But
I know why you did
because,
behind our looks,
were the same things,
waiting to creep out
from the ugly places we shoved them.
You were too tall to really see me.
And
You
You weren't the only one to see me at that show.
You said the complete opposite of what you meant
or maybe you changed your mind.
Either way,
I liked you better with your eyes on the ground.
On the elevator,
I just wanted you to shut up.
With paint on our faces,
Your art seemed more impressive from afar
Guess I got too close.
And you,
in the car,
in the diner,
in the field,
on the playground,
in the tree house,
on the deck,
in the passenger seat,
in my yard,
on the bench,
at the show,
by the stage,
in my arms,
in his backyard,
on the street,
in his kitchen,
on the hammock,
on my bed,
on my bed,
on my floor,
on my mind,
on my mind,
in your mind,
you're the only one.
the rest were to forget you.
on your couch,
on your roof,
on your bed,
on her bed.
and now there's only me,
some of me,
at least.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
Backporch swing keeping time
whiskey yours, tequila mine,
scented buds brings better days
as sweet Father John Misty plays.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
Backyard El Rancho
This is how we tell time here
Turntable and dry
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 3:58 PM UTC
I see you.
If I can't, then I feel you.
You are that ALWAYS, and NEVER in every lover's promises
that blank stare when loving words go flowing down your sweet tongue
sublte as you can be,
but I see you alright.
I see you in dim room as if it's our backporch during the summer days
I see you in every twitches of the eyes,
sense you, you're the lump in the throat,
the stammers, and the stopping of the heart.
like yellow to black, like day to night.
There's no use hiding...
I see you.
I feel you.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
she gave me rueful look in a pretty dress
a spirit i couldnt escape
sitting in a place of honor
springs bubbled among jumbled boulders
headed west on a rutted road
we sat in silence for a minute
i took a breath and said nothing
silence
i stared
i recalled
a gleam below dreams
a small flame perfectly warm
we were silent
i picked up a piece of twig
architecture without glamour
ars gratia artist
tiny butterfly serene and stunning
traversed the main route
traced the curving line of the mountain
deliberately she had met me on the backporch
as if it were the center stage of a theater
she hovering nearby
tracing lines
landmarks
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC