so guess what, one day
I found a key (to a closet (in the church.))
and it was very dark and dusty
in there &
the ladder nailed to the wall was only wide
enough for
one
foot
at-a
time,
so, it’s lucky that
I’m skinny enough to wri-i-iggle my shoulders
up and through the hole in the
closet’s web-trailing ceiling.

I clambered up there and into this black
forest.
Plants were sprouting
up in big rills and clumps--
stalks thin as my finger and
pipes wider than my waist,
some fading up into the ceiling’s darkness...
others squatting low, and glaring up
at me with One. black. eye.
they were all deathly still.

Then,
the creaking boards, the black forest, the cramped path of unmarked dust that winds between the pipes, all that just
SIGHED and VIBRATED,
and with a hisssing hoarsse
!shhhhhhhh...
breathed!
and my heart just stops!!! BAM!





{cricket}


and i feel ****** into a dark mouth! i am caught and trapped by this black closet’s maw andI’mwaitingfor Godknowswhat tocomewrigglingfromthepipes-- ! --!
and then guess what?:

!b’URsting up its throat
is a SONG!
slowlyand Suddenly,
a blaring, screaming,
golden
!EAgle of a chord
that s(oa)rs and c’RASHES into anotherand another one
all rising and falling,
champing at the bit until One Thousand hhums and shhivers
fill each pipe.

and it feels like
holding ten coins in a stack and making them jump-clink-clickity-HOP together--
oh, it feels like
pushing your fingertips into a bucket of cold paint
it feels like the moment after jumping off of a tall tree
it feels like un-rippling your braided hair with both hands
like a songbird’s claws curling about your finger,
like closing your eyes in a hot summer-sun
and falling asleep in a hammock

it feels like holding a blacksnake
that curls and struggles strong against your wrists,

that’s what this church ***** feels like.

I’m gonna **** the genius that started playing while I was in there.

work tripping #3 in 6 weeks
it's good they're investing in me
but it makes me feel
like I owe them things
and I probably do
it suffocates my anxiety
makes me consider a brisk walk
over the sill in 331 onto the Tarmac
in this quaintish Kentucky town
I've seen all 3 hours of but 100% know
it reeks of Igottagetthefuckout
homesick not for my home
but for beings and places that feel
like I don't need an escape route
or have to shove my thoughts down
and pull a thing out that isn't myself
I find myself going in the bathroom
at my parents house just to get away
because I can't engage with them
for long without alcohol to fuzzy
the thoughts I don't want to think
the feelings I'd rather disown
my dad buys too much wine
and I am so good at drinking it
I'm never alone enough
and when I am I just stare
into thoughts that go circular
everywhere and nowhere
it's all I want - to be alone and still
with nothing to do for days on end
no one to feed or bathe or need things
but wallow free in my lethargy and
get to all those dots on the ceiling
and not have to pretend anything
I have so many things I wanna do
but am lacking the proper thing
that propels things and does
the motion and I've gotten good
at doing the minimum but
I wanna be Onnit like Joe Rogan
but feel I can't afford that ****
though maybe I should rethink that...
and you know, I should be thrilled -
I got a free upgrade - a 2-BR suite
almost as big as my apartment
but it makes me feel guilty
for all the days I can't focus
because the ache inside wants things -
attention mostly, and just to cry
and sit and do nothing you know
I'm always half-assing even though
I'm terrible at half-assing things
because I either want to do it full-tilt
or not at all, so basically
I even half-*** my half-assing
so it's really more like a 1/4-assing
that wishes it were zero-assing
and I'm pretty sure I'm even
half-assing my lethargy
trying to sort out the other half of ****
I'm not focusing on when I should be
I always have these fantasies
of how I'll be in a hotel alone -
sipping wine in a bubbly tub
pampering myself, feeling sparkly
but I always end up feeling
so
alone
in unfamiliar cookie cutter hole
wasting hours on godknowswhat
with nothing to show for it
except some ****** poetry
or whatever this genre of ***** is
but the little white rectangle light
makes me feel not so alone
and expectorating the thoughts
into somewhere else -
my little RGB bottle in digital sea -
and knowing that maybe
others who long to be alone
just so they can wallow
in wretched unprocessed feelings
and be utterly ******* useless
aren't alone in wanting that

tonight I'll lie to myself
pretend you're across the living room
with the abrasive polyester couch
probably switching back and forth
between the two beds doing
whatever it is that you do
when you lock yourself down inside
and I'll ignore the screaming children
who must each weigh 300 lbs
running SWAT drills down the hall
and just imagine you're close enough
to be almost here
with me

and we're somewhere near
being whatever we are
or are not
and it's all OK because
we don't have to pretend
or half-*** anything
or devise an escape

we could play Marco Polo
even if no one ever wins
we can just keep role-switching
but I could hear your voice
and your pace pacing inside you
and be there close by just in case
you wanted to peek out
and chuck your shoe at my door
just for fun or maybe because
my nothing's too ******* loud

imagining you'd be OK with that -
doing proto-Wolverine impressions
or whatever ridiculous, wild, quirky
or boring, stupid, pissy things
you do when you're strapped up
in your own mechanical devices
in the space across the way -

it stretches my ribs a little
makes them want to be ready
to crack open
for good