maxwell edison, majoring in medicine.
storage systems are inadequate
they can’t help but mold and mildew and forget
your blood vessels are a much safer place to store your dorm room carpet
your cd collection
(who even has one of those)
your tweezers
your sweaters
your diseases
i’ve never hated anyone,
but i’ve held enough bile in my freckles to keep them at a distance
i know i’m making sense
(who believed that little white lie of surrender?)
just surrender
unto me
under me
or beside me
you fit nicely there too
storage systems are costly
and to think your money is going towards saving space, renting air
the base of your coccyx bone is a much smarter choice
for salvation and air preservation
keep your childhood there
so you can sit on your big brother’s bullying every time
you feel like you can’t stand anymore
i’ve never loved anyone,
but i’ve cradled enough infants and grown men to know
safety is the curve under your clavicle
not a crossing guard in an orange vest
i know you’ve stopped listening
(if you could hear in the first place)
but i’ll ask again
in supplication
surrender
in one stunning exhale of profane inspiration
surrender
under
me
you and i are living on the brink of an illusion.
my days are filled with enough deadlines and headlines and homophobes to make a better smarter nobler person quit
my life isn’t exciting
it’s erecting itself
slabs of discard marble stacked on
terracotta ruins
so history will meet expense and
wear its dissonance on the
sleeve of
tonal architecture
i could speak for days
for the days that are overcast
for the nights that are sparkling
for the wine that has soured
for the coffee that has coolled
i want my calendar to turn itself
and scribble in at eight thirty every pm
‘time to drink’
at six am
love someone
at three fifteen
blink, because you haven’t yet
everyone’s lives are full
and everyone’s eyes are tired
except for the vegans
they’re fueled on pretention and parsnips
leaving the cow methane for
mouth breathers
and
muddy little children
only children for three more days
then your self-taught shame kicks in
and the resurrection of your
invitation into a world of indignity insecurity and doubt
appears on your doorstep
pick up the card, i dare you
my days are filled with more streetlights and weather sirens and weathered shamans to make a better smarter nobler person quit
and i’m not complaining
i’m pontificating
i’m considering
i’m talking out my ass
the air outside is so very tired
it shrugs slowly down my lungs
rolls sonorously out my nostrils
and begs and begs for a rest
let me give it a rest
there’s time enough
in another day
to talk of the state of things.
petrichor, after rain.
really beautiful things fall together
the way i fall into your lap at a wild raunchy party
wistful of the morning to come
when i won’t be near you
and you will be near here
and the really beautiful thing is the sunrise
rising despite the moon
because of the stars
for the sake of the planets
the cosmos have to much to teach me
come down and teach me
crash the earth to bits with all the ancient wisdom of
below freezing mass of rocks
and air i cannot breathe
and wind i can see
and soil the color of a martian’s eye socket
come down and teach me
there’s so much to learn in this highly
limited
time
i need to know the word for the skin under the end of your nose
i need to know the amount of space between god and the sistine chapel
i need to know the numeric value of love on any day but february fourteenth
if i die before i wake from the daily grind
let’s imagine god greets me with fresh coffee grounds in a big bag
woven from stardust and planetary waste
breathe deeply, my child, its the smell of rebirth.
and he’ll take me very close to his big barrel chest
fuzzy with heavenly chest hair
and tell me,
“it’s okay”
unless he’s a she, or either or or
then she’ll kiss the skin of my forehead
rub lilac on my temples
and usher me into a wading pool of wine and endless wedding dress lace
really beautiful things fall together
the avalanches fall over people
with more life left to live than leaders of men
lepers have every reason to greet the sun
the way mourners have every reason to smile
not because there’s a tomorrow
or the chance at another yesterday
but because today rose
like your arms in a morning stretch
and gave the gift,
no ribbons no wrapping,
of a whole new day to try again
i know i don’t speak from experience
i know my first world is the awful catalyst to your third
but really beautiful things fall together
the way i want to fall to you,
and keep you warm
and keep you safe
and keep you free
despite the moon
because of the stars
for the sake of the planets
the cosmos have to much to teach us
come down and teach us
would you have it any other way?
somedays, i’m sure i’ll die young
and leave behind a history of catty remarks
and callous requests for attention and permission and light
i’m convinced we can fit the sun in the vein of a spider’s left foot
you know, the one closest to the ground
i’m sure i’ll die young
i’m sure i’ll die young
i’m sure i am young and have nothing new to say to you
i’m convinced the moon turns on that axis just to offend the other planets
it says, look at me! not a star not yet a stagnant mass of rock in this milkway
the way you’re destined to be
the moon is an opinionated one
it tells me when to bleed
when to howl
and when to look out my window and wonder why i’m still alone
after all these years of loaded smiles and emptied triggers
the guest list for a pity party is fairly short
so we save on snacks and alcohol
but not on party favors and playlists
it’s always a challenge
to dance by yourself
and not step on anyones toes
i’m sure i’ll die young
but i’m more sure i will die in a bed all my own
all alone
all composed
all cold
it’s bound to be winter when i bite the dust
it’s bound to be winter when i make up
this story
about that one time i was sure i’d die young
and i was absolutely sure the planets had thoughts
and even more sure that you make me more angry than any one person should have the
capacity to
yes, i’m definitely talking to you
somedays, i’m sure i’ll die young
but i will take you with me
and the worms will feast on our animosity
and the newest planets will be composed of our grumpy bones
and bloody stones in our bellies
i will eat you alive, young man, i will eat you alive
if only i could get that super nova out of that spider’s foot
and into your left eyelash
then the glint in your eye
would be all mine
and i wouldn’t care if you were evil
so long as you’re young and decaying
i’m sure we will die young
but i’m not going out alone
and you cannot sever anymore limbs from this rotten body
because i left them all in your bed
all my limbs are in your bedlam
the universe has this thing called a chaos theory
and everything is moving towards entropy
so explode already
you’re bursting at the seams
somedays, i’m sure i’ll die young
and leave behind a history of narcissistic building plans
and untouched lips
thousands and thousands of untouched lips.
the queen’s hamlet.
remember that one time I tried to reach
heaven
and tripped on my own skirt hems?
remember that one time you stared at
her mouth
and fell so hard on her stomach
that she had no choice
but to catch you
in her skin
under the sky
beneath my nose
out of your mind
we’ll be old and wrinkled
like dirty cotton socks
and I won’t remember much more
than the
taste of mac ‘nd cheese
and the way wool feels on wet skin
so when our bones disintegrate
into marrow and ash
roll them into a lamb’s bleat
trace them on a child’s braid
carry them to the ocean side
I’d love to die in a grain of sand
remember that one time I built
twenty five stairs
that led to a tower all blue?
and you walked the first steps
told me it was cold
and used it all for firewood
I am kindling for your words
burn me
freely
torch me in your fiery words and
undefined passions
I am only destined to be a memory
and she a reverie
and you are a dreamer
never a logician
I think you’re so beautiful
like dirty cotton socks
aren’t
like midnight baby whines
aren’t
like tomato soup on a cold day
is
like all the clouds prepping for rain
you are a natural phenomena
and I am only the past
shed no tears for me, light no candles for my sake.
there is something older in the ground
right beneath the topsoil and worm carcasses and lizard eggs
something older
darker
deeper
it quivers in the moonlight
shivers at dusk
growls at sunrise
sleeps and sleeps and sleeps in the heart of children
right under their beds
and we know it’s there
and we ignore it’s presence
until we’re older
and deeper
and darker and
forget
that creatures the shade of the night watch
monsters that smell of bursting stars
terrors that don’t bump but jump and scour and feed
will and must and do
inhabit our wet dreams
our dry spells
our heavy steps
our adulthood
i’m wearing a hood to protect the space behind my eyes
from rain and sleet and smoke and pussywillow branches
i don’t have time for fear
but it has time for me
and it creeps back in the gaping slits between my ribs
sleeps in the moons of my nailbeds
dances in the lines of my inner thighs
i am so terrified of growing up
but more terrified of growing down
into the earth
where it lives
there is something older in the ground
and it must not be ignored.
