"dialing" poems
the planets. the peaches.
pruned. picked. for the reaches.
the centuries. a second to the eternities.
you can have it. say laugh when. you hear the jazz note.
the voice of all that i spoke. the saxophone.
like dialing digits of truth. on the telephone.
come on. say one and two. up and down. the diversity in one single crown.
upon the ears of sound. it's the heart's listening device. toss it like rice.
at a wedding. human genes get paired up. and twisted.
so simple. it comes in flavors of licorice. red and black.
off and on. check the track. when the needle skips.
we find all these differences.
let me bring it back. for diversity.
zeroes and ones. spread the spectrum. across high and low frequencies.
it's so easy. let the record speak. can you stay on beat.
the principles of the high. the sincerity of the meek.
whatever lies between. is one or the other. blended across the centuries.
and all mothers. give birth to the last. man to the first.
follow that. discussion of high low.
mid ranges get blown. saxophone pace the flow. get pricked by the tweeters.
soul from the bass feeders. save the appetite. for the words that i write.
and then speak. you you. not me. splitting hairs. atoms. quarks. and light.
beams. like a smile. across a broad spectrum. either off. always on.
high low. then get gone.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Tossing and turning, sleep evades me
The thought of her pure dress
As I sip my warm white tea
My love becomes less and less
My eyes shall not close
To be filled with desires which are false
Dreams that make me smile
Fall into a deep trial
I desire hate
This love is a curse
To want a ***** as a mate
Wealth filled purse
I give everything
I want something
Phone in hand dialing Nick Caraway
I love you is what I say
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
I know a girl who's hurting,
But you don't see her cry or pout.
In fact, you'd never know it was her
Unless I pointed her out.
She tries so hard to keep on smiling,
To hide her noose and gun.
But inside, I know she's dialing
Her depression's 911.
All that you can see her as
Is happy, skinny, tall.
But long before you knew her,
Her hopes had begun to fall.
There's still some left of what she was.
Independent, Loving, and Strong.
But there's only so much you can do to cope,
When you've been so sad for so long.
You'd never know she cuts herself
For every sorrow she keeps.
You'd never know that every night,
She cries herself to sleep.
You still think she's so happy?
You haven't reached your goal.
Instead of listening to the stories she tells,
Try listening to her soul.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass
We linger longest over John
Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags
...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed
No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”
Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--
mostly
sorta
...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror
of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...
******* crazy-- John!
He was enough for one day at a time
like when
he flung that threatening bolder
on bilco doors
for percussive effect
"Get off my fuckin' property!”
(not using his “inside voice")
“Next time, that'll be your head!!
He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”
My phone is set to speed dial
911
____
“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”
How we miss him now
How quiet
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
Romilda was an old lady,
She had no small baby,
So she petted her sisters daughter,
Who only drank milk but not water,
Little baby had a nice name which was Angelina Geolly
But her life was a worry,
She never went for the studio,
Never had Romeo,
She was brought up at a village,
But had a wide knowledge,
Her old aunt was always frank,
But Angelina Geolly use to prank,
One morning Angelina knocked her head on the wall,
And started dialing a call,
It was to none other than the fire brigade,
Hello, Come asap for our gate, Fire! Fear! Fire!
After an hour they reached in,
It was all about a recycle bin
Angeline had only meant, fire at her aunts cooker,
But they responded you little sucker!
The poor Aunt Matilda had to pay,
For their visit all the way
But still the house wasn’t grey!
Some people, few people started to blame Angelina Geolly!
She ran into her trolley,
And Angelina Cried Cried Cried,
But later she was Fried Fried Fried
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
I.
I should probably get some sleep
3am is not a time for pouring out sorrows onto paper
The morning is too young and the stars too bright
II.
I should be dreaming of
blue eyes and summer nights
Instead I am writing of old heartbreaks
and drowning in my fifth cup of coffee
III.
My mother reckons I should get some sleep
When she finds me in the morning
Lights on, slumbering into the warm keyboard
And grocery bags under my eyes
Big enough that I stumble trying to lift them
IV.
I should probably get some sleep
When my thoughts start to get obscene
And I am dialing numbers that I shouldn’t be
But sometimes I find it difficult
To lie down in a peaceful rest
When I don’t know if there’s anything worth waking up to
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
The rooster swivels on its axis returning
coarse wind into the pyre of mad, mad tongues
raving alongside charred ivory. Lifted by sorry hands
from dying embers’ embrace and eased with foreign pity,
ceremoniously, into a cardboard crate wheeled against
the traffic, stumbling backwards through yellow canvases,
between my family dressed in black, to dress the void (deck),
mourners spitting soda into their cups, as word paddle upstream,
onto a thin futon within four walls stained with unfinished ghosts.
The doctor removes the white shroud like God coaxing pink light
on the first day and wine oozes through elastic veins to the far corners of my skin thin ventricular walls. One crack, in the doors and in my chest, paramedics in white blur in, heel first,
Pan-island couriers on reverse gear to the corner
of a numbered street, where I am delivered like a gladiator
thrown into the arena of nosy gazes, with the urgency of
hens clucking away from premeditated slaughter:
deep Christmas red on the tessellated parking lot.
Clumsy thumbs dialing 599, I moan inwardly
to the concentric circles of strangers retreating, erasing
me from cell-phone cameras. Then like a flip animation I
snap backwards, up 21 floors,
pause for about an hour on the ledge before smashing
backwards, back down, past kids scratching graffiti off the cement
and growing cigarettes in their mouths. The rain ascends and I take
wet cash from the driver while I fidget on the leather and throw up
mediocre coffee into my cup. I dig into my throat and return the bread
to its plastic bag and when the cab stops I fall left out onto another parking lot,
moonwalk up the stairs to where I unwrite my name in the
annals of failure and
shove the Fs of my past back
then
I take the bus instead.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
the first time you said I love you was on Valentines day.
On the way back to my house, on a winding street lined with pine trees
You said it as a joke, and that's why I laughed
the second time you said I love you was when we were on your living room floor
vinyls upon vinyls with the wrapping all around us
this time I just ignored it and gave a tight smile
the third time you said I love you it was attached to a quick goodbye on the phone
I hung up before I could react and dropped to the floor right after
because how the **** could you ever love me and not know about the planet of skeletons I have in my closest?
you never seen my bad days or my worst days
you don't know the way I light up and the way I fade away
you don't know the voices in my head or the numbers on my arm dialing a phone home
hell, you don't even know what that means
you can't love me because you don't even know that I'm a planet
you can't love me because you don't know that I gave up being a human a long time ago
and you can never love me because you'll never understand why
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
My left brain twists, and secanol comes flowing,
My eyes are square moon bases, nonagonal PVC behind them
Accounting for a dialing rhythm of split modular beeps,
Air-packed and dew drop sized, but only held by felt feelings.
They pipe in.
The Opener Screamers
Open a pal, a pulsing pill of pep talks and peptides,
And scream my way into tomorrow, a sleepy cheetah with anxious acid reflux.
My right brain does a sit up.
My left brain twists, and secanol comes flowing.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Have you ever seen a night sky so clear;
So clear that there’s not even a sign of the moon’s existence?
Well, I’m under one right now
The street is empty and the darkness is silent
No rustling of leaves or bushes,
No hums of crickets singing in chorus
Window drapes are down
And they’re all black instead of yellow
Streetlights are the only source of light
And that telephone booth standing steadily alone on the corner
Hands inside my hoodie’s pocket, I go in it
I pick the phone up and started dialing a number
When suddenly all the lights go out
In a blink of an eye, and the world is in total darkness
Everything is quieter than ever
Then the wind comes whooshing
The thunder begins applauding
The lighting started like camera flashes
Raindrops as big as golf ***** fall from the sky
And the way they hit the roof of the booth,
I almost believe they’re as heavy
Inside the booth I still get wet from all the sweat
Then, as if on cue, the storm dies
Quietness floods again
The booth light flickers but that’s all
Streetlights never come back
Hesitating for a moment, I slowly go out
I look up and the sky isn’t just a black canvas anymore;
It’s now filled with blots of white ink
Glittered to life
I kick the waters not yet ****** up by the drains
I look at how calm they are
Mirroring the beautiful night sky painted
I can definitely say I’m top and under the cosmos
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
When a *******
Is in love
He doesn’t know it
He unknowingly
Plays his game in clay
Swiftly in his smartness
He misses the path “don’t love”
His fatal fall into a quicksand
Yet, he doesn’t know it
He thinks he is moving
But ******* has sunk half body
His phone rung until death comes
He would’nt answer till he ****
He is busy with another
And the others will still call
He’s got a new phone line
Thinking it means a new life
He keeps dialing +234
This time not caring about ****
******* sleeps in her dreams
With his eyes open
He says to himself
She is mean
******* You were brutal to love
You cut off her wings
And let that dove not fly
Should you be proud
That today
Love grew up a hawk
If you won’t accept her a dove
you will have to deal with this Hawk
When a ******* falls in love
He falls with hawkish wings cut
Deep down he would fall
To the bottomless pit
To a land of no return
When love plays a *******
He becomes the game
And love is doing the play
So if you are a *******
Take your time before night
Love will come in due time
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 12:41 AM UTC
Lieing on my body is my soft little feline
So cute and sweet like a flower of clementine
I pet Young Gunther softly as he stares into my eyes
I however was yet to meet my despise
The claws came out all sharp and about
Blood everywhere as I fought him throughout
Feeling such pain I fought back the best I could
His speed however was misunderstood
Bleeding out I grabbed the phone
In mid-brawl I began to crawl
Dialing 911 to save my life
At this point even a knife would not suffice
Nearly dead the ambulance arrived
Deprived and hurt I continued to cry
"Why Gunther, why?"
I was put on to a stretcher and taken away
Gunther running he escaped in some way
In the ER with little blood left
No hope in my mind remains about to be swept
Into a can and in a number of minutes
My fatality occurred
Words were slurred
And I died slowly painfully and without any last words
But "Oh Young Gunther, you little ****
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Selfie... Selfie... The trends been going selfeye...
With this trend comes a blend, pouts... like they are kissing themselves for being screen ******
With social media in place, selfie is the one with pace
They even got an app out for it instagram, that make people instapout
People get 1000 likes for posting instant selfie, giving false notion of that they are friendly
People chatting all night long becoming woolly when it comes to confront with face on
Do you know the fun fact, selfie kills more than shark bites
Futile competition of FRIENDS + LIKES = NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY over the time
Close ones want to know how are you doing, a mere picture of you is just a façade
So when are you dialing that number in your phone, just to know how you forgot to talk
The very same social media that promise to bridge the gap, made you incapable of having a conversation with the very same friend’s list you flaunt
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:15 AM UTC
several snakes spiraling
hissing a message in her ear
telephone is dialing
waiting for a call from someone dear
(on the velveteen tangerine)
roller skated through the town
laces strangle each other like constrictors
gravity is upside down
the pair of skates are like twin sisters
(on the velveteen tangerine)
ivy climbing legs and boughs
stemming into leaves and flowers
time is spinning backwards now
the clock has been gone for hours
(on the velveteen tangerine)
cream and sugar sweet
share a cup of tea with company
friends talk about their week
lounging in the leafy canopy
(on the velveteen tangerine)
eyes stare at the strange sight
unattached and independently
moonlight shines on glades of green at night
trees blend into starry scenery
(on the velveteen tangerine)
citrus spheres hang from tree limbs
peel the hard rind to make it nice
pick one or a dozen at your whim
drink sweet juice or swallow a slice
(on the velveteen tangerine)
beware of seeds and centipedes
but take a chance and you will dance
with delight around midnight
on the velveteen tangerine
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
1) 12 thousand tweets and none of them are substantial. They're becoming less and less about you though. Maybe that's what is substantial about them.
2) Something in the way you wrap sin in worship.
3) I'm an arson waiting to happen, is the funeral pyre really necessary?
4) Writing about you angrily isn't doing it anymore. I want to smash bricks through windshields that used to hold flowers I bought you.
5) Looks like you're not at the bottom of this one either. ****
6) My love has always been leprosy.
7) You're the interlude, not the chorus. But, that's okay I'm a terrible vocalist anyway.
8) She wants to date boys that are self aware and boy did she hit the jackpot.
9) You smile with the grace of grandmothers and I'm a bad boy like your grandpa after the War.
10) Can I cut out your grin and put in on the wall next to my framed poster of Bob Dylan and Charles Bukowski?
11) Trace my outline in chalk when I finally drink myself to sleep. I'm euthanizing the pieces of me that belong to you.
12) If I find you in Heaven won't you be in his arms? If I find you in Hell won't you be my torment?
13) You make me feel as insignificant as God does and I think that says something about prayer.
14) I quit paying my phone bill so I'd quit dialing your number like a suicide hotline.
15) My teeth are rotten like the lies that spill out of my teeth. You find me beautiful and I've never been more self-conscious.
16) Your silence fills my abdomen like daggers and words clot where crimson should flow.
17) Loving you is ************
18) My heart is at a crossroads and you're drowning in dust in the rearview mirror.
19) You prefer the subtle burns. The flames so hot they sever nerve endings when they lick your fingers the way I imagine I would.
20) She sings the body electric and I'm forced to worship her through computer screens and the scratch of needle on vinyl.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
It is year two thousand and fourteen
Reformatting my brain I’m dripping Dimethyltryptamine
Revelations is now here for I had a vision I had seen.
So many experiences now under my belt
Unexplainable sights overcoming I had seen
Smelling something like moth ***** is all I smelt.
I’m setting the stage, I am setting the scene.
Actions with matching words having ultimate precision
Three times is truly the lucky charm
Traveling to a brave new unseen world
Is this heaven, is this hell
Or am I stuck somewhere in-between?
Stepping outside myself I now watch and see
Confusing images revealing, turning me inside out
Suffocating my mind how is this happening to me?
High pitched frequency dialing in my ears are now ringing
Disconnected words lost why is he now not singing?
Honing on each and every instrument in his band
Everything that is happening to me is because
I had again awaking my pineal gland.
(SirCARSr. 1-8-14)
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Eve held two cigarettes in her lips and lit them. She passed one to Mark, beside her on the chaise. Thomas was with Delilah in the bedchamber getting a few lessons in life. They were making noises like a slaughterhouse as Mark tried to focus his thoughts.
He left the couch and went to the phone, dialing Satan’s office. Eve watching him with heavy lids, her arm stretched across the curved backboard. She inhaled forcefully, making thick clouds that obscured her face, then her head, and then the whole couch. He was watching her too, wondering what she was up to as Satan picked up the line.
“Yeh?” said the devil.
“Satan, Mark. We’ve got to talk.”
Satan was silent for a moment, then said sharply, “Look, they’ve got wire-taps.
Why don’t you come over here? We can talk in person. It’s safer then taking a chance on them listening.”
Mark thought that was smart, but if they were listening they’d already gotten an earful, but he had to take that chance.
He hung up the phone and fanned the air with his hands. The girl was gone.
He heard chuckling from the bedchamber and realized there were more voices than before, loudly squealing and giggling. He heard Thomas moaning in utter delight and decided to leave him there. As far as Thomas was concerned, Purgatory never felt so good.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Saying words meaning nothing, transfixed with "I"
it's startes every sentence, and if i could i'd end with I.
Only opinion that matters is my own, mastery is a poem.
syncing lines with words and words weighing me down like stones.
Thoughts so sad they corrode my morals like acid.
sitting on my bed, it starts and i become homesick.
Pathetic as i once was and even more so, can you believe it?
still smiling and laughing at jokes never said, hoping to break even.
We're going out, it's all on me, except for the money and the driving.
your phone is probably blowing up from all the numbers you're dialing.
never not gonna do what we did last weekend, eh?
Slow jamming to oldies in a "Smoke that bud" kinda way.
Chain smoking for fun, and laugh at silent jokes.
planning our next unknown move, totally stoked.
A Queen is just a pawn with fancy moves, you say.
those weren't queens but it doesn't mean we're not kings, i say.
They were ordinary but we made them out to someone extra-ordinary.
Alright lets stop this nonsense, thinking about people who don't deserve it.
my emotions are swelling and empty, complicated i don't know how else to word it.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
responsive wordplay resizes
double entendre to single line
call blocked the writers
got more out by dialing 9
touch screens to text readers
read text and seem touched
the ringing in your ears
was from a cellular punch
I plan to limit my data
but I always over share
mastering dastardly dactyls
pushes my meter to bare
if you only think 1x
you might struggle to get the picture
take a 4G dose to flex
your brain with crack and fissures
lithium ironic that my low battery
turns hyperbole to hypo
I got you charged with flattery
alas, you're not my typo
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
no. 1, pop perfect record. The energy of dialing wars- each canvas has its temples splintered. Put down the smoking, and you can beat them with nerves. Your new revolution!
My father was your father until you had him shot while he was sleeping under his bed. Now you make popcorn and read the funny papers alone.
even. You bought me that cheap cologne from the mall. Thanks little brother.
[] True [] Love [] Story []
You hugger-mugger, slubberdegullion, crapulous lumming. Then enecate and banjax.
You have always been the logomachous one.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
To be a lucky strand,
Tangled, tethered to you
Cloaking such beauty,
To see the iris that glows
Behind tinted amber pools
Teeth that advise such clarity,
Wrapped in velvet creased lips
A protruding collar bone,
Embossing ethereal skin
With shoulders built
To harbor the weight of the world
Bronzed over flesh is spanning
Across fickle and cold bones
Constructing a case to hide
A sunken Aquarius heart
For as hollow as it is
To a lover's knock,
There is much to be
Uncovered and desired
Unspeakable curves will mold
To accentuate a searing lust
Justified by knowing what it means
To be held to you
Arms stretching to a locking embrace
Warm to touch
Every joint akin to the previous,
Dialing down to finger tips,
Breaking away in ten beautiful directions
And there lies a gateway to symmetry,
Almost unseen
Where the make of your mother's breath,
And the sum of your father's skill,
Entwine to beget a graceful badge
To where you constitute a conceivable home,
Should you so choose
A manger, suited to an heir
Here is where your dress flows
How many Michigan sunsets
Have broke light beneath the fabric
That adorns you
How many Chicago winds
Have flown that flag
Such comfort to be a cloth,
Draped in a silhouette
To an ornate fashion
The thousands of threads
Spun and stitched to adhere
A fixation of benevolent shape
It's astir to every notch
As you saunter past
With tenor and a managed confidence
Two feet with a steadfast passion
And misplaced direction
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
I wish that Katelyn lived closer
Drunk dialing would go a little more smoothly
for me if she at least lived in a neighboring city
I said I would crawl to you and I would
but I'd hardly make it to the end of the street
let alone over the state line before inevitable collapse
I wish that Kristi didn't disappear
My mind would be a little more at ease if I knew
why you vanished in the first place
Questions would have answers
ego would be pieced back together and
that foolish hopeful flame would (hopefully) be extinguished
I wish that Caitlyn wasn't so sweet
a cavity of the heart made the sugar maddening
but you still were so true
sometimes I find myself wanting that madness again
to be alone in company and calamity,
to feel someone's gaze in total love and acceptance;
most times I don't
I wish that Angie wasn't spoken for
I respect your loyalty, I do
You don't come by that very often
But don't you just want to cast that aside?
Don't you want to succumb and give in?
Just this once, let your desires win
But that's just my desire talking
Don't listen
I wish I wasn't so convinced now, so cold
All I know is the cruelty buried
underneath mesmerizing complexities
I also wish my **** didn't burn so bad coming out,
so, now I don't know what to think anymore
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about using every day.
I have dreams about those little yellow pills,
they don't speak to me,
or appear any different than they are in reality,
I just dream about holding them in my hands.
I couldn't do it,
recreational drug use.
I never could
no matter how many times I told myself I wasn't addicted, the truth remained
that I was.
I would tell myself "what kind of ******* is a drug addict, you're not, you're fine."
But I wasn't.
And everyday I have to tell myself "no, you cannot take those pills because you will not be able to stop"
Some days it ends there,
others I get as far as dialing my dealer's number.
Most days it's in the middle.
Being an addict is about having habits;
wake up, take three, (don't eat breakfast, the high will fade faster). Take four once the feeling leaves your legs, and four more before you go to sleep, so you can sleep.
Rinse and repeat; rinse and repeat.
Sobriety is the same way;
wake up, convince your self you don't need it.
Rinse and repeat as needed.
She helps, but she can't replace my addiction.
Although she gets me high, I can't become addicted to her, her lips do not have opiates hidden within,
but they have something better.
I don't think about getting high when I'm with her.
The high I get from her kisses is not dissimilar to that of methodone,
only their is no crash.
The high I get from caressing her thighs shares a likeness with *******
except it costs love, not cash.
The high I get from hearing her gasp my name as our love making intensifies is very similar to that of hydrocodone,
only much, much better.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Eve's on Highway 70.
Been on it for some four hours.
After dialing the ten digits on
the cracked cell screen,
she turns it on speakerphone.
It rings once.
To the side of the road, a sign reads,
World's Tallest Prairie Dog.
It rings twice.
She wonders how long the wind
has been red; how long until
the red sun gives up.
It rings three times.
There are birds flying up ahead.
She wants to call them by name.
But what good would it do?
It rings four times.
He picks up.
Her lips are chapped.
I'm fine, Jay. Thanks.
Just calling to tell you
that I'm in the state.
What state?
Your state?
What do you mean?
I'm in Colorado.
What? What are you doing here?
Am I not welcome?
No, no. It's not that. Why didn't you tell me?
I wanted it to be a surprise.
I hate surprises.
Nobody hates surprises.
I do.
She's silent for a beat.
The birds are still ahead;
she races toward them but never gains.
Why didn't you tell me? he asks.
I just told you.
I think something's wrong with my phone.
I can hear an echo.
I have you on speaker.
Why?
My internal mic is broken.
Internal mic? What does that mean?
I don't know.
Where are you going?
Fort Collins. I have family out there, I guess.
Some cousins. Are you on the way?
Am I on the way to Fort Collins?
Yes.
No.
That's not what I want you to say.
What do you want me to say?
Just try again.
Eve, I don't think this is a good idea.
Try again.
What?
Try again.
I can hardly hear you. There's wind or something.
With her index finger she nudges the volume ****
to no effect. She puts her knee on the steering wheel.
She rolls up her window.
Say what I want you to say, she says.
I'm on the way, Jay says, if you take the long way.
I'll be there by six. What should we do?
You could start by apologizing.
So could you, Jay. What should we do?
Say that one more time--the phone.
What should we do when I get there?
We'll figure something out.
I hope, she says.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
I had a closet that was soundproof growing up
I used to crawl inside and perch on top of a mound of clothes
There I dialed a random number once
And told them all my secrets
On an answering machine that never hung up
I swear I heard someone listening
The air was pregnant with
Rosebuds
The petals of
Ripe
Imagination
So I created poems and gave them to
the child
Who sat in the corner of the call
This is real
I said into the phone
And no one said it wasn’t
So I told them I was not afraid to die
And it was quiet
So I told whoever was listening that
I loved them
Because we barely take the time to stop and love
To stop and call
I’m still waiting for my brother’s voice
To appear over the phone
And ask me how im doing
The warmth between us has grown cold and there’s icebergs creeping
Up in the depth of my confusion
Someone once told me love was blind
But im still trying to find you in the darkness
Find you on our old mountain walks
in our
Endless talks
He gave me piggy back rides
Letting me carve my secrets into the bark on his back
Even though he couldn’t see them or read them ever again
He used to be a sail
Letting me blow endless winds
Until my tears created rivers and
I built a boat with him
And sailed across
To the other side
where my cheeks were dry
I’ve heard that 90 percent of human interaction is non-verbal
so
ill wonder where his fingers are
that aren’t dialing 314 9770
there must be shrapnel in his back that replaces the spine that once made him a man
so ill dial until my
fingers find the right combination
of a familiar voice
and then ill tell them all my secrets
until moss grows on top of us
and we’re old
much higher up
on a mountain somewhere
looking back from where we came from.
From his little bedroom painted light blue
Converted from a closet with a round window
It was his little sea cabin in the house
Still holding all of our secrets.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC