ambivalent
you walked several blocks
to appear at my door/
uninvited, you asked me
what in the hell I was I living for/
I don’t know, I said
and I told the truth/
we walked to a cafe
and sat for a while/
you drank your coffee
didn’t say much/
you stared out the window
like you were waiting for an answer/
somewhere in the street
I’m sure it was there/
you got up and left
unexpectedly/
take care,
the waitress smiled/
and you bit your nails
stained yellow by cigarettes/
turned your eyes to the ground
and shuffled outside
petit romance
the trees scratch garish against the purple sky
like scars defacing a pristine countenance
and surrounding us, as caged birds
trapped under such wondrous array
that can hardly contain our love in its abundance
and I was sure that I would never love again
even as I felt so small
under all those stars
bathed in profound darkness
as the world spun just for us
the arbor fell away
and revealed a whole world around us
that could not stand still
that could not wait for our longing
so you ran back to the forest
but I could not break free from my fetters
do I sometimes see
you looking out from the woods?
do I see you looking back at me
over your shoulder
and smiling,
beckoning
as you turn to leave
well, kid, you sure as hell gotta believe in something
some things I’ll never get used to
often those things that will never change
a strange sort of paradox
that the most absolute are the most impossible
to comprehend in a way
that reassigns blame
for my ignorance or refusal to believe
but I was never much of a believer
at least not in those things that would always change
because you can’t put your faith in shape shifters
and the weather of summer;
you can build a tower on the bedrock of routine/
your cities will be buried under the sand of the unbeknownst-to-me
never heard from again, never seen
photo booth
at the end of the day
I was always your ephemeron
but I played my part
before taking my place in the lost and found
with your old friends and mementos
kept here to remind you that we existed
a one dollar and fifty cent strip of pictures
from a booth in the city
keeps me company
and that kiss I’m placing on your head
seems so hollow now
I can’t get rid of the past
these memories stand like houses in
invisible cities
I could burn them all down
and you would appear, illusory, in the smoke
And still I wait
and still I wait, endlessly,
while the days careen past
leaving me reaching into nothing
for something to hold
but there is nothing
just your letters, your whispers
spread over miles
like smoke carried away
by the gentlest wind
over the seas and streams
of your memory
diluted and made absurd
by the delusion of time
but still I wait.
Got my Neutral Milk Hotel tickets for October. Since Athens sold out in 20 minutes, I didn’t want to waste any time. The website was down right at 12 from the increased traffic, but I got my three!
stop drop roll
the rain falls from the overhanging roof
gathering in places where the pavement has split
over the city’s brick and mortar foundations
it fills my boots
and my head
it reminds me that this city
will never burn to the ground
the buildings stand more resilient
when I am cleansed by fire
they remain
and right now I am engulfed in flames
but the rain falls on my head
turning to steam, extinguishing
and if I have become complacent
a streetlight gleams abrupt against the night time;
its flickering lays siege to my home
shining through windows to alleyways.
at four thirty in the morning,
your silhouette cuts into the granite darkness
urgent and defiant, resisting the passage into dawn.
there is no time to waste/
and we have nothing to lose.
I am scared that I’ll be happy enough alone.
dangerous waters
any harbor in a storm
but don’t bring your ships
to my rocky shore
all littered with debris
of those who came before
those I sent back to sea
traveler don’t come to me
for shelter from the storm
It’s my birthday. I’m 20. Holy shit.
