"backtracking" poems
Honesty is the best policy,
One we've chosen to abstain.
Honestly I'd rather you be honest with me;
Walking on eggshells we could refrain.
Tiptoeing around so we don't step upon the cracks in our floors,
Holding our breath tight so we don't breath in the thick truth-
God forbid we just speak honestly anymore,
God forbid we let all of the unsaid thoughts loose.
Honestly I can't say I know you like I once did,
And that's absolute fact.
All because we have absolutely forbid
Ourselves from a backtrack-
Backtracking to when we could actually talk without thinking before speaking
Or worrying about what we have said.
No worries of the truth leaking
From our honest hearts and heads.
I don't want your meaningless quips,
Your aimless remarks.
I prefered the small notes on slips,
Our conversations in the dark.
Honesty is the best policy,
A policy we tried and found true-
A policy we have declined to upkeep,
A policy we once knew.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
I.
Sunday mornings in Vancouver
even pigeons sleep in till 10 A.M.
Undaunted, I walk down Granville shortly before 8
seeking lox bagels with capers, red onions and cream cheese,
two breve lattes, and a newspaper. In truth,
panhandlers on the corner of Robson
have far greater chance of scoring.
An unexpectedly sunny February morn
suffices to spur me on. I am attuned to all vibration.
Breath of the awakening city
exhales manna upon the shop awnings.
Bagels rendered superfluous,
I scarf images instead ---
trolley buses, an umbrella shop, falafel stands ---
delicious Canadian visual cuisine.
II.
Vancouver is a nymph. Of that I'm sure.
I hear flirtatious giggles trill
from darkened alleys between hotels.
Spotted her once across the street on Dunsmuir,
seated on a walk bench reading a Margaret Atwood novel.
Bus passed between us and she vanished.
Caught a later glimpse through the window
of a walk-up dim sum restaurant in Chinatown.
Flew the stairs, only to find an empty table and
discarded napkin smudged with candy pink lipstick.
She watches me.
III.
Turns out there are no Sunday morning papers in Vancouver,
but I locate the bagels and espresso backtracking on Helmcken.
The barista smiles as I approach, sets down her Atwood novel.
I leave a Toonie in gratuity.
B.C. wind pushes hard on my turned back,
as I rush our breakfast back to the Executive.
A nymph goes roller-blading by toward False Creek.
The Gastown Steam Clock whistles that it's 10 A.M.
A flock of pigeons lifts in flight.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
Dublin is soaking,
ink running on sentences, churning on the page.
America is splintering,
(the suburbs specifically, not the nation)
into leftovers of Ticonderoga No 2.
These streets breathe in and out and
up to clouds illuminated by the Temple Bar,
as people stream through Dublin's narrow straights,
running thick and bright and damp
soaked with the scent of amber,
brimming with warm words like barley and hops,
the world reflected through the half-empty glasses
abandoned to rest stale at the bar.
This boy is a livewire to a madness,
quivering gasps flying to spark on her tongue when
she finds the kiss in the corner of his mouth is
tightly stitched in with the sound of each smile.
Her hand still clings to the smells of sweat and beer
with miles of backtracking ahead.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Ross was good,
Part-Choctaw, Part-Saskatchewan,
he'd sniff the air for his direction,
could spot a pebble out of place,
understand broken twigs.
He loved to work at night,
backtracking was a skill,
garroting his specialty,
he had fourteen dings.
Part-Celt, Part-Heinz-57
I understood similar things,
my notches stand
at just under ten.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
12:05 am, drunk text, honest words
fingers brush the send button
message sent reads the screen,
sweaty palms, backtracking
hit delete, no use
eyes close, deep breath
message received
1:00 am, sober thoughts
angry groan, swear words
escape your lips,
waiting, hoping, praying
hit open, no use
eyes close, deep sigh
no reply
3:16 am, point of no return
parallel realities flash by
one good, one bad
one yes, one no
call him? no use
eyes close, almost asleep
one new text
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
You attempt to comfort me
Yet my discomfort is being without you
I torture myself with the past
Reliving my mistakes
Backtracking paths of broken glass
Barefoot and bleeding regret
Striving to forget the past
Be in the now
HOPING for a future together
For I do not deserve another chance
Yet I wish for nothing more
I lay my head to sleep & wish you were beside me
Accompanied by emptiness
Fall asleep and dream of you
Dreams,
Where I feel whole again
Where this hole in my heart is filled
Only to wake up to the unholy truth
I am without you
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
A March dusk blotted stale
bodies; jet-black water
ran thick with puerile inks
and imparted abandon.
Head shrouded in
cobalt mist, night idled
by a black pane that
rang dull and flat.
Backtracking rooks caught
the vacant eye: threading
a monarchical purple cloak
to hoard the transient days.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
are the first among us
in early spring to notice
the flowers, taking notes
and comparing posture.
they look strangers in the eye
like no other, as though the least
amount of recognition
were the most familiar.
they sweep lonely men off their feet,
just one encounter and the lonely men
in turn go searching for the trail
they've left through this city,
in crowded alleys, in libraries, in the park
at dusk, in a statues rust, at a trafficless
intersection. everywhere there are traces
of their presence, like a dustbowl
in its aftermath, if only the dust
were silver and the violent winds
intruded on the stillness to hold
up shelter against the oceans
of desert.
i met the loneliest of them all,
the postulate that nature offered
was now her ex-lover and recovery
would be backtracking.
lonely women are the last to be pitied,
and lonely women were not always
lonely. you must have experienced
the kind of love that is unbridled
to experience that kind of lonely.
Lonely women will be lonely
until they die, so that by the time
lovers wake up together she will
have already offered herself to the soil
so that by the time they take their first
step out of the bed she will have
already become minerals.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:35 AM UTC
I like listening
To other people’s lives
They all live them… In
ways so different than mine. /
I drive slowly
To watch the other faces
Reactions… Expressions… These
first impressions that won’t leave a scratch.
Because even if I ever do see them again,
I won’t place the face to the situation. /
I firmly trespass and trod through
The footsteps of others before me.
Maybe I’m swerving in reverse—
backtracking from their desired progress. Moving
away from the glorified destination
that their sights and eyes were so surely set upon.
Or possibly I’m shadowing their paths. /
They watch me observing.
But I’d never consider that
this innocent people-watching
may put the victim in an uncomfortable setting
of my gaze and of my attention.
I intrude, analyze… do everything in my power
to better understand. /
So why can’t I give room for everyone else to
do that as well? //
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 12:16 PM UTC
*At scratch, discern you’ll either win the duel or face defeat
Before you go the distance warrant you’re set to dust your feet
for when a cycle is heavily ridden it unquestionably must squeak
Afore you relish a plum you most probably will ascend her tree
so be sure you can swim before you plunge into the sea
as if you can’t you may lamentably pay very high a fee.
Even before you contemplate a “happily ever after’, a fairytale, a forever
tune your grip to clench the hot rod ‘for better for worse’
scorching of blessings in the moment and every awaiting curse
and also fine-tune your lips to never say never
Before you stir the limpid prepare to deal with every ripple
for you won’t march over mines unless you want to *******
before you poke the bear, beware of the wrath of forked flame
because when you blister, you’ll have you to gulp pain and blame
before you leave, truth and no lie you ought to explain why
and also be willing to say goodbye
for at times there’s no backtracking, before a tantalizing hegira you must be sure
don’t walk off to Medina when the Kaaba you seek is back in Mecca
and turn out to be the reason you’re judged a faker
since prior sailing they say, one must be ready to lose sight of the shore
before you route for emerald pastures, learn how to mow
don’t say “No” when you feel different, or yes for ‘No’
and ultimately, you must be ready to face the universe afore you speak.*
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
Bet you can't remember,
One year and two days ago.
Not the face of the boy,
You let into your home.
Met him that day,
Friend of a friend.
Hospitality swayed,
And you let me right in.
"What was his name?
I dunno but he made me smile.
Laughed all day,
And made out for a while.
Was an odd kid,
Always wore running shoes.
Said I was his first kiss,
I even whipped his **** out for a few."
O girl you have no idea,
How often you come to mind.
A memory of the past,
A happier moment in time.
Haven't spoken to you,
In one year and two days.
Though I tried twice,
That didn't get me further in your maze.
So now I am backtracking,
Eating crumbs off the floor.
I can't believe it's been one year and two days,
Since I've met that *****
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
You call and say I'm aberrant
You don't wanna be stuck indoors deviating
I don't like your storms
I miss your floodwaters
I need an affectional sleet
I miss your earthquakes
Then you came with all your quaking
You must think I'm an aftershock
You must think I'm abnormal
Now I can't find the volcanism without you
Volcanism without you
Queer and two
Like the ingenue over slew
Subthalamic and cuckoo
And I'm dancing because you're undue
Twisters ain't nothing when I'm betraying with ya
Gay
Do you mind if I steal a permafrost?
I miss your downdrafts
Calamities are not safe
I don't like your cataclysms
And every homosexuality is failsafe
Then you came with all your frothing
You must think I'm a calvinism
It's time we had some infernos
Will you hold me tight and not go flaming
You don't wanna be stuck indoors backtracking
When I'm shaming with ya
Shaming with ya
When I'm with you, all I have is inappropriate thoughts
It's time we had some embarrassments
I'm rebuking 'til dawn
Na na na na gay
Na na gay
Like the tray over buffet
Na na na na gay
Like the valet over heyday
Transgender and ok
Got more halfway
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
Backtracking towards the Light
oh! Fakir,
brilliant shiny Bright
Neophyte hypnosis, take me In..
oh! Beloved,
fragile tendrils of my desire
heartfully hear me, hear Me..
my heartfelt Prayers,
I do not fear to tread into the highest vapours.
Clandestine Clementine!
not One Breath but Three
times itself, squared.
Blaspheme!
not forsaken, dripping drapes
blindsided, blindly onwards...
not forsaken Sight!
Hear me, Hear Me..
Bless'ed be my Name!
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Inside, is this thing about me, it has stolen my voice,
It's like ash has seeped into my lungs from an invisible fire fueled by hatred, it has broken my will to stand on two legs, a gentle world slipped out from under the covers,
forgotten,
In my arms a purring cat that reminds me of the ocean waves crashing along the shore of a place I once felt at peace, it's frustrating to lose track of such wonderful memories,
I feel insane, but I am calm and understand that this is just a phase, chapters on the moon are written in the clouds in day
I realized now, either this mind is too creative than what I think capable or my abilities have left me with only formal beginnings, so breaking the mold has not left me with many options,
Indeed sleep and food will provide healing when it seems fit, but for some reason I would better wish luck could do some providing, this hard effort has made me sick,
Indebted to silence, my rain check has finally been checked off, the papers folded and what's left of the ink is saved for my last breath.
Incurable, only by my diagnosis, and only a poet am I, not a doctor, this in lies the problem,
Indifferent about such touchy topics, resorting to backtracking my statements, fair enough?
Indecisive? so are the current topics of the new world conspiracy, such a soft melody replaying in the foreground, as my mind goes out the back.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
I remember your cashmere sweater
Always soft against my cheek
As you brushed my hair with your fingers
And I would fall fast asleep
I get that you have a new life
You've replaced your baby with these children of yours
And I wonder how you will tell them
About the life you couldn't afford
I'm so glad to see you're healthy
No longer skin and bones
Your track marks have healed so well
But that skeleton was my home
I know you still think about who you were
Ash, you can't change over night
I'm curious how you will break the news
Or look at me and make things right
You were my mom when our mother escaped
And we were robbed of a childhood; forsaken
But I am still hurting, still being mistaken
Your halo is dimming, it was never that bright
You'll always be an addict living a fight
I'm happy we can have conversations
Without your eyes involuntarily shutting
It's sad that it makes me sad though
You're what I think of when I'm cutting
Your pedestal you placed yourself so high on
I'm watching as it's cracking
And you would be such a fool
If you don't think I've been backtracking
I've got these scars
I didn't forget
You are my nostalgia
I am your regret
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
I know we haven’t talked in a while. Not since
I recognized the decisive crack of your voice
like a crinkling plastic gum wrapper
and I let the phone fall. That was
five years ago and I don’t know where you are now.
But I’m writing this
because I can’t stop writing
about you and your shapes and your smells and you
and white powder and you and religion
and religious books neatly stacked and you and every piece of you
and a rickety black tram bursting forth in the darkness and you
and pockets of light that sometimes shine through in cocoons or at elegant dinners
and you and aftershave and blood and muddy river water and you
and flowers in porcelain vases and couches encased in plastic and you
and I am endlessly backtracking to silent violations
and black midnights riddled with hunger and confusion and
I don’t know maybe some other time
and it’s like our hands and wrists are bound together as though bandaged
and the whites of my eyes are permanently reddened by an
invisible fire’s breath
or the glow of your face
and even now everything won’t stop shaking
and I just stare
at my hands
and tiles
and patterns in carpets
and I keep staring and staring forever
only at things that won’t move away from me
like inanimate objects but
I’ll leave you here
with a letter I’ll never mail
because I’m no longer the quivering little girl
beneath you
and I’ll get ****** up again and think
this is freedom, isn’t it?
churning sweetness and liberality into my
empty stomach?
but then why does my mouth still
taste like metal?
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 3:51 PM UTC
I somehow feel the need to apologize.
Still.
After all this time.
You sang like I was made of the earth and the wind
The lovely things.
And when I said those three words for the first time
And you repeated them...
My heart stopped and my soul flew.
I was ready to give up my freedom and my future for you...
Then you say we're growing apart,
You tell him that you never loved me, don't like girls, dated me out of pity
And I cried for five hours straight while my heart broke and my mind screamed
'I told you I'm not a girl.'
Labor day isn't the same even all these years later.
I still have to tell myself it's not my fault.
You were on fawns legs,
The who am I what I am where do I fit that comes with adolescence
And you spoke me fair from the moment we met.
I was so happy to finally have someone who saw me for me.
I told you so soon
'I'm not a girl, I know it's hard to understand but...'
And you say you don't care, nothing changes, I see stars in your eyes
And I'm so happy to hold your hand in the hallway,
No matter who stares.
I should expect the backtracking. The fear.
Your parents, who knows what they'd do.
And you break it off quietly.
Saying you don't think you really like girls.
I am still not a girl.
We don't really talk now. I just find it hard to feel anything but tired when I'm near you.
Then you. You are a girl made of startuff.
Your heart among the planets and constellations.
I call you starshine and eventually
I hope. I ask. I confess.
I admit I planned my life with you.
Big city apartment, stargazing far away from life,
Leaving small town made of quicksand for higher hills and brighter skies.
And you were the only one who ever called me by my name.
Called me a boy.
Gave me anything that felt real.
And I know it hurt you to hurt me.
I gave you my heart and you treated it as tenderly as you could have.
I don't fault you for that. I don't fault you for anything.
No matter what you make me feel real
And I always have loved the stars.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
I’ve been backstabbed
I’ve been backhanded
I’ve been backflipping money
I've been backtracking destiny
I’ve been backed into a corner
I’ve been brought back
I’ve been traveling backroads
I’ve been treated with the backlash
I’ve been left alone with no backups
•
They’ve told me to backdown
I’m back on the ground
Dugout deep in their backyard
But I learn from the backwards
See me now in my new backdrop
I’m working harder then ever, I can’t feel the backache
They want me to backup but my moves don’t backtrack
So they now pull out a gun out of their backpack
They’re here to take me out back
But this time I’m standing up, I now have a backbone
So I fire back
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 9:12 PM UTC
It's 1 AM and I can't sleep
My eyes shut tight I just can't keep
Thoughts of you splatter my vision
Looks like once again I'm backtracking my decision
Why can't I stay away from you
That's like asking why is one plus one two
I can't stop thinking about the love you give
How I'd fall to pieces because without it I can't live
You know how to make me crave you in every way
I wish you'd stop playing with me, I want a say
But this twisted love, it will never stop
You'll stay until you **** me, until you make my heart pop
Now it's 2 AM and I should go to bed
Goodnight, I'll be dreaming about everything you've said.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:36 AM UTC
Distracted I wander,
Following the wind as a parachute.
Gliding on the backs of others efforts.
High above the canape and their common roots.
My mind never settling,
Always thinking I've made a wrong turn.
Backtracking, backtracking , was I ever on track,
What track leads to what I yearn?
Curtains' numbers one, two, three, four,
Players play for prizes, hope not to get burned.
Got a bad deal, don't win the sports car?
Go home and buy a rope and raise some concern.
Someone goes to stop you,
Get what you want, by threats and scares.
Instability will only balance if naivety is company,
Show them the scars and burned hairs.
What's the right choice!?
I'm drowning in possibilities!
Past chances sail away,
As I sink to the bottom of the sea.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
the words of
a lie
were true.
they truthed
uncertain territories
backtracking forwards
through the blurred
clarity of certainty
the words of
a truth
were untrue
and they too
believed facts which
made fallacies
masks and surfaced this-
these ties twisted
into lies so they created
straight lines
geometrically
doing the undone
connecting synapses
making constellations
for mapping the brain
asymmetrically, star gazing
blindly when similarity
fades boldly, what is
indifferent to the the same
what is more contradicting
than comparing
the insane to the sane?
yet this tangible diversion
is simple and complex
in validity
and so. truth be told.
a lie to be,
is a truth to me.
a truth for me,
is a lie to be
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Skin drys out, cracks,
Breaks.
Broken openings leak
Seeping secrets screaming
Blood bleeding black, gushing
Spewing profusely
From gaping holes of unknown notion.
Absence of reality
Flickering like static in the background.
Backtracking through endless experiences,
And falling through infinite possibilities.
The same new thing.
That new old feeling.
Body crumbles, collides within itself.
Scattered shards of fragmented potential,
Now settling in the air-
A film of dusty desolation left to subside.
Left to fill the lungs of nobody,
With sticky stinging, heavy thick
Strangle choke of no one.
Disintegrate, and
Disappear.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
And life was like a highway
The Soul-- a car.
The moments speeding by
Blurring together.
But how many times have you stopped
Just to gaze--
Just to slow down,
For once.
For once? --why did matter
How fast you were going,
Or how slow the horizon was growing.
For once: why drive at all?
It seemed that: drive.
All it seemed. All it is, really.
Could you leave?
Or are you stuck on this continuum?
Maybe it was the way the sun's gaze
(that day specifically)
Held the world in such
Un-timely grace.
Like nostalgia held under the lime light.
But it was gone as fast as it came,
What's left is-- well-- memory.
Couldn't you have stopped?
And now it's stuck behind your mind.
Like the black blotch
Of a crack
In your back window.
But regret is no more than rear-view mirrors
And and empty tank.
Wouldn't the sunset be so much better
If you weren't headed towards it?
I mean--
How many times did you escape,
Just to walk-- heck,
To even measure how long
The pavement lines were?
Sometimes the best thoughts we have
Are just backtracking to find gas.
But that's regress...
Isn't it?
But maybe a new body on an old frame
Doesn't cut it.
You're worth less if you have miles.
Yet without miles, you lack the rustic wisdom.
--whatif
What if death's the only destination.
Then why even bother
With where you're going?
If the sunset fades--
Look,
You could have all the moments
Pass your window
Or
You could simply gaze.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC