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why, i might just possibly survive on

pebble stones and loving bones and

the

Sweet encompassing sounds of the universe

i think of you when i hear that trainsong. i think of hiding from the forest rangers in the battlefield at 2 in the morning, watching the deer congregate on snodgrass hill in the light of the haloed moon. our knees wet from cold frost on the sharp grass. and then there’s the train roaring through the outskirts of fort o as we shared a kiss that we knew would get us into trouble. sure enough, the man with the cane had something to say about that. but surely that’s a story to dwell over some other night.

long way home

i find myself dallying 

along the strangest of inner pathways

caught up in alleyways and 

scraping my knees on broken 

fence posts

i wonder how many times 

you’ve walked along and

heard this same dreary song

discovered all these ways

to count the days

till we’re more than 

just our nerve endings 

and cells 

for here i am trying to

apprehend 

the motions of my movements

to understand how i spend

my time 

my eyes dry

 peering 

into corridors

of night, monsters 

collecting in a vision

destroyed by static 

and snow

i just wish to know if

all these 

ponderings will bring me 

back home

will you peer inside deeper than i’ve ever allowed another?

will you take a peek and reach your peak and shush me back to me bed?

i’ve always wondered what kind of adventures we could have sought together

i’ve always wondered why we find ourselves alone in mobile homes twitching our noses and tapping our toes

everything is making sense in my head. these moments i have stumbled upon before in my dreams. this moment here, even, a memory of a dream. 

slinking around garbage bins at one in the morning

trying to romanticize sidewalk cracks and pigeon shit

glorifying cigarette butts and cracker crumbs

I’m startled into conclusions that I have already made.

i have this reoccurring astral experience of sorts in which i am the seashore. no thoughts nor feelings, i am simply aware that i am the seashore and aware that the ocean waves are lapping over me.

well the sea’s

waving goodbye

and the stars are hanging

too high

on nooses

while down below

a bellow erupts

from my soul

and i never did try

to dry my eyes 

before falling into the next

sort of sorrow

i am struggling with the feeling that i cannot express myself in ways that are unique to my perceptions. i am worried about being misunderstood. or being unable to convey my experiences in their entirety.  and this is probably from a life spent thinking instead of speaking. writing instead of engaging in conversation. i do not know if others can agree on the meanings of my words enough to derive any sort of understanding from them. this has been stifling my creative expression. i find myself unable to write poetry when i am sober. i have had to drink myself into a state in which i do not analyze my thoughts as i write them down. and as i read over them again in my sober state, i am unsure if i have strung the words together correctly. 

so. there’s that.

hey, it’s been awhile since we’ve talked

your boots must be awful dirty these days. i’ve fantasized about our hotel/motel stays. our typewriting blues, mud caked on your jeans. i know i have better things to do but

it’s just that poetry is too much glue between us and

no matters of reality can scrape that away

you can sit quietly and let that slow bliss crawl up your spine 

but surely it’s a snake of fire that lingers in your brainstem too long

I want a keen look

in your eyes

to search for my Everything.

you’ve fumbled daringly with this fate

in the hands of a context i cannot conceive