of course…

this is the end
the terrible, inevitable
end

pagebreak

spur the moment
i collect books of poetry the way
most people collect worthwhile things
like stories or experience or nights
spent soaking in the physical manifestation of love
but, like all collections, they sit unused and dusty
on the various, unimpressive shelves
or covered and stagnant on beige carpet floors
they are dying like i am dying
in the silence that mars unread pages and dims the
glow if truly impossible worlds into banal, expected existence

they are calling, like i am calling, to be put
to proper use
for fingers and better intentions to break their spines
and wear them into memory, heart-clenched, eternal
and too impossible to know

driver’s side view…

excerpt
i admire clouds when they gather.  they congregate and loom without ill intent, with no intent, really, only purpose: to darken the sky and drench the world with grey, spilled secrets, or to hold their tongues and pass in majestic silence, leaving us to watch their unhindered movements and wonder what they truly know.

and then some…

countdown to unknown
the universe faulters on the page
cradling together a year’s worth of polaroids that shimmer and crawl and change
like delirium
asking questions about the nature of words or the lack
of cleared off blueprints for fortunes and future
plans wrapped up with a bow of 23 years
like shadows harboring their fraying edge
or wasted days that stumble by on dream-thin hours
on melting, stilted legs
that throw up thick dust and missed calls

they remember, and 5 give voice to that recollection
left alone on the bar edge because the universe needs antithesis
and every story a fool
left facedown on the countertop by a would-be oracle
showing her friends the depth and reach of universal harmony
and just how off our steps will be

 

disturbed ground
you were Lazarus
or you were Shakespeare
or the scattered urn of ash
wind-tossed and returned to the world
to live again
or forever

pulse three
The street is cold, and the cold sinks unhindered into my skin.  I shake off the insistence of the bar but it will cling to me, my hair, my clothes, as if bound by gravity.  No matter: it will wear with bleak hours until forgotten, like no news into bad news and walls unable to protect.  My breath hangs white on vermillion, taking the shape of my wanderings, carving out stolen attention into a painted feminine mystery.  This calls for retraced steps, for stillness as the only option, at least for a moment.
But, i am afraid.  Afraid that i am unable to fill the empty hours with vitality or meaning, afraid that i will never unstick myself from time.  So i lower my eyes to remain ignorant and hopeful of my destination, stepping over water meters that bear keyholes, and i wonder: would any of the keys in my collection unlock or open them?  No, not open, just enable the sequence necessary for peering behind shut doors, for they are cold metallic and that is their only purpose.
My car is cold, full of empty water bottles and music that does not work.  I wish to drive into the night forever, always ahead of the amnestic sun and into the life i wear only in my dreams.  But, i don’t: i drive to the place i’ve been a thousand times before, because i am afraid, and have nowhere else to go.

the winter inside
i feel depression like silence
and silence is a terrible thing
for i am left by myself
and alone

long away…

Due to a somewhat frantic job search and my figuring out what my words really mean to me, i’ve neglected this blog.  I’ve still been writing…i just haven’t posted anything on here.
I think i needed a break.  I think i am also going to go back to my original goal of posting here a minimum of once a week.

And, to be a man of my word, have some poetry…and then some.

until next time…

I have some mulling and pondering over to do about the content and general modus operandi of this blog.
As a result, i probably won’t be posting anything here until said period of introspection is complete.

So, until then, Handy says, “Go read a book!”

well that’s your problem right there

my imagination has sprung a leak
and i don’t know how to patch it up