flocking

i used to think you didn't remember anything worth remembering
the truth is, you probably don't remember anything at all.
it slides off your feathers like water drops
if i am too entrenched in the past
you, not nearly enough.
if i am the only one with all the details
all trepidation and tangled seams
all bleeding out on warm asphalt
all the glacial oil in alaska
or more appropriately, tar
then more fool you.

noyer (v.)

rumors have surfaced
that you are in love again.
tiny bubbles of sweetness lodged in your throat.
heard from unfamiliar friends,
and you the least of both those things.
those pockets of air did you good.
meanwhile, fish, gasping
thrashing on hot sandstone, pleading and
beached like nothing so small should be.
there are too many words for the things water wrecks
the need and lack of it, like a tide.
but memories are not balance sheets.
they are collateral.
and fish have no use for them, they remain
preoccupied with more pressing matters

strange haikus

i saw you today--
nothing. i thought i would feel
something. anything.

welp, time for dinner!
dinner dinner dinner din-
ner, dinner dinner

apologia

i'm tired of guys saying girls are crazy, and i'm tired of saying boys are assholes. or that they suck. or the whole "girls is conniving bitches" spiel. we should stop with the generalizations. yes, girls and boys do sometimes possess their... particular and distinctive traits.

the truth of the matter is, we are all responsible for each other. most of us will be children till the day we die. so how are we to expect kids to know how to treat something infinitely precious?

this is not to say we don't feel capacity for love, which is one of many things that redeems us.

mostly though, it's that we just suck at taking care of each other. or we're selfish, and things like 'sparing their feelings' or 'not wanting them to get hurt' spawn lies that down the road hurt even more.

so anyone can choose to be bitter and say that girls will just hurt you in the end. that they're smart. or that boys are assholes who will always be assessing other girls.

but each person is a diamond being. and we may be masochistic idiots, but when you venture to fall in love, that real love*, it's only with one person.

and you could not possibly generalize them.







* j has no idea what this is, and has only ever come close. but it exists, which is good enough for the purpose at hand

trouble trouble trouble

i like our names close
next to each other on the screen that we waste our lives over
or paper that we waste our lives
over
even bodies far
and uneven hearts farther
tiny letters stay still
as peace wells up and spills over the page.

things wot i wrote when i should have been listening to professors

of all nameless faces that pass you on the street, in atlanta or tokyo or providence or montevideo; every one of them means something to somebody, more than they have ever meant or will ever mean to you.

likewise, somebody passes and your eyes widen, your face softens. and everyone, forgettable bodies already, becomes less than that. blurs. but you are not a blur, and neither are they.

this is what the world is about. this is what it means to be human and whole and alive.

that we are all the same; we yearn for happiness and peace and love -- note i did not say truth. that we are all the same, but we are immutably and intimately different to each other.

#.021

over the courses of day

i fluctuate and sway like a drunkard

over trite comparisons of your intoxicating being.

at noon, i have resolved to knock down your door

demanding recompense and answers.

mid morning, i state you are too warm, too sharp

and deserving of brown

sweet

doe eyes; spaghetti hair

and fuller figures.

early evening, when my tangent thoughts

run most swiftly towards conclusions.

late evening,  like cracks in concrete

like caulk in tiles

like trails of birds flocking toward southern refuge.

.019

being unable to escape fondness in my heart

for you, and having forfeit the rights to any sympathy

regarding the matter

we continue dancing a bittersweet maze

around each other

as echoes of doorknocks and telephone rings

swell impossibly larger, then disperse

like waves on weathered cliffs.

buh.

still the stuttering.
inject inflection to your tone, and
carefully, peel up the layers of a heist
in which precious beats are made off with.
so erratic, they, and more fool you.
ring the bells and drink your tea
in dark afternoons of threadbare rooms
imagine, missing your creativity,
j'en ai rien a foutre, vous avez dit

et et et moi non plus.

and then, before shy eyes start shuttering
and your stills keep stuttering
change. and winds of.
and trickles of greed, which you respect not.

look mom i can use fancy words!

You want to change this. There is something fundamentally flawed in the premise, and these things are never meant to be taken at face value, no matter what Occam claims. This will take time. You will let go because this is something you refuse to do improperly. You will come back with your shield or on it, and be told: you will not. Be carried back. 

For now, all you have are your intentions. Today was not so good. But you will try tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. Because your hand is clenched so tightly over your left breast that you would not give him over for anyone less. Not even yourself. 

It is the irony that gets you. You are finally growing up and facing the vulnerability and it makes you feel like you're twelve again. Oh, you would wax poetic. Would that you could hate him for this, but there is nothing to hate. You cannot even use the time-tested and plead disrespect, because such a thought is laughable. The last time anyone garnered such loyalty and regard through so little, you were a child clinging to your brother with wide eyes. 

Though, you don't understand much. The necessity of a heart that beats like the opening lines of Waldstein. The way the minutiae of someone else's life can mean so much to you. The way you rest your forehead on the shower wall and draw tiny hearts into the condensation.  Still, for all of that, you took some things away. Skin under your fingers. Brief seconds in someone else's life. Most notably this: you love someone hopelessly as you haven't done in years. It rings false because you have no idea what it is to pursue, and it rings true because this may very well be that mythical selflessness. 

You were due for this. You were due to learn how to love and expect nothing back. Your suitors were far braver men than you, for this. You'll try tomorrow to loosen the grip a bit. It might work, or it might not. After all, you would have no other. You couldn't. It tightens as you drift asleep.