kingdom come.
honey. angel. sweetheart. other euphemisms for remember my name in the morning
i just wish you’d call.
but not you, a variation on you, a transition in the thought of us, a play on the words
you and i
it’s not enough
it’s never enough to ask for things as they are
and don’t dream of them as they were
but as they ought to be
god damn the way the ought to be
i can’t do what ought to be
i walked home alone tonight
third night in a row
the sound of my sandals slapping the pavement
the sound of my jewelry tapping against itself
you have to wear an awful lot when you’ve got ugly skin
and i ran into boys i love to love and love and pretend to adore
but the truth is
they’ve only just begun to taste the tingle of what’s beyond the pale
pale being the color, not only of her skin, but of your spirit
have some fucking balls, man,
i can’t don’t won’t pretend you’ve got it all figured out
when you can’t even figure the distance between my frontdoor and your
bedroom floor
is this too much for the modern ear?
too much for the contemporary spirit
jesus
jesus christ, who died for my sins and rose again
the rose of sharon for the sake of saving
all us lost souls
god i love you
god i ask you
how did it get to be this bad?
and not my bad, but the bad of the nations of contamination and condemnation and awful spellings of the word salvation
teach us to breath again
it doesn’t have to be this way
i know it doesn’t have to be this way lord
i had the most glorious day filled with sun light and sweat and mild sufferance of wild joy at the sight of a four year old spinning circles just so she could taste the sun
why can’t we just taste the sun?
and burn away the darkest dark of the melancholic lark that won’t sing around the park of souls who want to know if we can sew their sins into a tapestry of light
bring the light
bring the light
bring the light
there’re aren’t candles enough and excuses enough and allowances enough to explain
why the artist sells his fingers in exchange for rings
why the painter sells his eyes in exchange for lenses
why the actors sells his soul in exchange for celerity
honey. angel. sweetheart. other euphemisms for love me after tonight.
i just wish you’d call
us
out.
don’t you dare look out your window.
it’s a beautiful girl walking home alone
it’s a silly girl making a fool of herself
who will play the fool?
me, pick me, please,
i’d like to be first for something.
it’s a drag on a cigarette that didn’t light the first time
it’s the keys clacking on a keyboard
what are you spelling out?
your name your number your sign
sequencial labels that do nothing for your spirit
honey i don’t even like smoking
there’s the secret
there’s the truth
we’re too good of friends to touch each other there
instead take my
what
words sadness idiocy tomfoolery
lover
i’m a poet
here to chronicle your happening
i’m nothing but happenstance
an instance you didn’t plan for
dear lord jesus the word known to all men
isn’t lust or love or the lascivious way you smiled at her
so young and ready and wanting
it’s prominence
it’s promise
it’s all the tomorrows locked deep tight safe and sound in the holy
of her holies the saint of sodomy the tomorrow of yesterday
listen
i understand my function
i’m some level of a futile historian of things that have already happened to hundred of thousands of us us being the same version of twenty somethings that have existed since the invention of the cellphone
don’t speak to me in absolutes
don’t speak to me at all
signs and symbols and omens of ages that looked for the future in the guts innards livers of birds are what i lust after
i lust
actively
it’s a verb
i lust for these things
it
we keep talking about it
and what is it?
what is it?
what is the word known to all man don’t use my name and joyce’s in the same sentence he invented stream of continuity stream of contingency stream of malcontent
now would be the perfect time to ask yourself
what does she mean
not nothing not nobody not never or no or how
god i really hate you but not you and it should be dislike hate is far too strong for anything other than a war front
sing the harmonies
it’s a beautiful girl walking home alone
it’s a beautiful boy you don’t have the courage for
or stamina
it’s the long silence between hand holding
it’s the last thought before a dream
who will play the fool?
me, pick me,
i’d like to be first
for the fall.
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.
