fines & lines

Tender bruises. Bitter pain. Somewhat enjoyable to touch.
Trailer "trash." Loves to go home. Her heart is there.
Crumpled flowers. Once alive & beautiful. Now dead. Still beautiful.
Music blasting. Loud enough to rip the sky. Hurts so good.

They don't want you to know it

but there may be

a fine line


b e t w e e n


fines & lines.

Love&Leave.

From our days together
I hope you learned two things:
1. There's only one way to make me cry.
2. There's only one other way to make me cry.
You don't know it but,
I only cry in a certain room
Inside me
Where something
Settles like a shiver,
Falls like a timber, and
Runs like a river
That's severely off course
And a little ambient,
Arbitrary and indecent.
Because you're my winter.
You're my closed eyes
That can't deliver.
You're a retired surprise
Burning up with a whimper.
You're a cult hit
One hit wonder of a thing.
And you make something in this room
Stir like an eddy,
Melt like candy, and
Sprout like weeds.
Forgetting you not
Is a problem still unfolding
A solution still with-holding.
I take sidestreets, backstreets
Passageways and avenues differently
So I'll pass by the place you grew up
As many times as it takes
Until I don't think of you as I go.
Now, this hasn't worked yet
But I cannot detail any better
The cacophony of relief
That rings in my belly,
Wraps around my ankles,
And boils my soul over
Just because I didn't leave
A piece of me
With you.
No, only a mark of me
On you.
Or so I hope.
The thought of the possible world where
Parts of me were with you now
Pricks the back of my neck
And jerks me awake at night.
It scares me to the stars to wonder
Where all I would be.
You'd probably have scattered me about
Bits and pieces here and there-
Certainly keeping some for yourself.
But I'll bet you didn't know
You left a mark on me as well.
Because we grew up together,
You and I,
In this room with the dead-bolt lock
That can't keep me out
When there's this glass window
Paired with this rock in my hand.
And when the smashing passes,
I'll squirm right through the tiny frame
And in doing so
Be ripped apart from the outside in,
Shards of glass,
Sharp as your stare,
Sticking out every which way
From every angular space
As designated by your
Sidewinder smile.
And your seeming lack of compassion
Or decency of any measure
Delivers deathly decibels
That you don't know what it's like at all.

No. You don't know what it's like at all.

cheap imitation.

mockeries of lockdowns
& locking you up downstairs
would never do,
supposeitdids & whatifs
don't amuse you,
& my imagery is
useless unless
these things
make you itch
where your heart is.

so my prayers go out for you
through your inky jet blue
night
& periodically throughout
my rose-colored-bright
day
as well.

with the leftovers of my 24 hours
i contemplate your structure
& what it is that makes you wriggle inside
your arduously polished patterns.
lipsticks, chopsticks, matchsticks, eye tricks-
maybe that's what little yous are made of.

& maybe we will explore it together-
the depths of your psyche, that is.
& we'll pour over your inhibitions
to come in contact with divinity.

& it's possible that even in the afterglow
you'll continue to peruse clearly empty aisles
in a hopeful manner[?]
& i'll continue to wonder why you're surprised
when the curtain falls before your final soliloquy
& your breath is taken back,
just like that shirt you got at half price,
because it so failed to live up to
the designer's version.

Right-Side Up

Sometimes I know you're watching me ignore you,
Sometimes I purposely adore you, and
Sometimes you get this look in your eye
Like you want to hold something upside down
And spin it round and round really fast.

And the terrifying
And all too appealing part about it is
That there isn't anything
anyone
can do about it
Or anything
anyone
can say about it
to make you
change your mind;
Your techno-rave-crazed mind.

Dough is enough for me
To shape and mold for free
(Or almost free)
So I don't need you
To grant me permission
To shape and mold you
For a price I can't pay
Or a day I can't survive.

But I'll still spend my time
Looking through collages-
The tangled webs and tapestries-
Of your life
(If you want me to)
Or your love
(If you need me to)
I just might not survive
If you spin me round and round
really fast
upside down.
So please,
Only right-side up.

Cookie.

I once ordered a cookie at a restaurant.
It looked like it knew something.


It did.


Not only did it know the exact location of my future spouse,
But it knew the time and place we would meet.


It was kind of a flaky cookie.

Rhymes, Riddles, and Reasons

Sounds take over
As I lie in my bed
Will I find no rest
Before I am dead?

Enchanting wind-chimes,
Shattering glass,
Crunching ice cubes,
Someone cutting the grass

It's buzzing hornets,
Squealing tires,
Crying babies,
Wildfires

Laughing people,
Smacking lips,
Staggered breathing,
Paper rips

Nails on a chalkboard,
Screams of pain,
It's childbirth and
Heavy rain

There's a corny joke
And subsequent groan,
A gurgling drain,
A new ring tone

An honest prayer,
piano tune,
And singing choir,
are joining soon

There are old men fighting,
Faucets leaking,
Skipping rocks and,
Foreigners speaking

I hear kittens meowing,
Howling hounds,
And then some other
stranger sounds:

I hear magnificence,
Rhymes, riddles, and reasons,
I hear oxygen,
And all four seasons

I hear revolution,
Regrets and pleas,
Nostalgic thoughts,
Epiphanies

I hear unloved children,
An unwritten song,
And unspoken thoughts,
Where they don't belong

Within young bodies
I hear dying spirits
It's a musical mess
With some beautiful lyrics

I hear the panic inside you
Every step that you take
I hear grace and forgiveness
I hear love. I hear hate.

Sleep comes not near me
This I continue to fear
As I lay and I struggle
With all I can hear

The sounds are unceasing
Silence I'll not find

For the truth is, I'm deaf


And that noise is my mind.

come crying to me
& tell me
what it is that's holding you back.
& i'll tell you to chuck it
right true da window.
cuz one of these days
you're gonna go
right true da window
if you don't.

suppose a snail said
he never truly lived
because his house
weighed him down.
it's quite a shame
that he never heard
you'll never truly live
until you're naked
& homeless.

a snail's no more
than a slug with a shell
& he'll never amount to anything
until he admits that.

out with the old/
in with the new.
sometimes it should be
"out with the new", too.
like new junk mail.

not a big advocate of
junk mail. new or old.
squares and ovals
might as well be
boxes of barnacles
covering your floor.
there's no way
better for wasting time.
life's better in big slices.
eat it up.
nay; devour it.

you'll never get another
chance like that again.
count your losses
while they're counting
our heads
going off in pairs
around the corner,
seduced by the neon lights.

but seduction is only
as effective
as the desire is strong.
that is why there are
slices of blank checks
laying in dashingly
random locations-
to intrigue you.

but is anything
more intriguing
than watching fireworks
in your pajamas?
you'll regret letting fireworks
wear your pajamas
when they're returned to you
drenched in the lonely stench of sulfur.

but is anything
more lonely
than playing both
sides of the board?
checkmate.
when you play alone
you have to lose to win.

you winner, you.
winners do make fine
subjects for art.
so, i'd like to paint you.

not a portrait of you.
i'd like to paint you,

personally.

head to toe.

i'd like to.

green blue
orange red
fuschia
or however the
hell you spell it.
nonetheless it's
a sizzling array of color!

my masterpiece.

but, maybe for now
a sketch of you
will have to do.
black & white only.
a mere pencil drawing.
because, (let's be real)
who of us
has time to paint?